


Adria and Tlaloc Collab

by Aykorn, ReedRGale



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Blind Character, Disability, Eventual Romance, F/M, Ink Battling, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Rivalry, Snark, Turf War, close the beaches, snark attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aykorn/pseuds/Aykorn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReedRGale/pseuds/ReedRGale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I turn to face the second person to enter the room just before the signal tells us it’s time to go. In that moment, I notice that behind her shades, she keeps her eyes closed as she walks with the dynamo rolling over the floor. A synapse fires and the thought clicks.<br/>Shit, she’s blind. A small, blind girl. Well, that’s just fucking novel.<br/>I resign myself to carrying team. As I hear the announcer giving final instructions. This was not how I wanted to spend my first turf war of the day.<br/>--<br/>Two writers end up shipping their characters after intending to just practice writing using a turf war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turf War

**Author's Note:**

> This was a collaborative work between ReedRGale and I from the summer, so  
> 1) the splatoon headcanons are pretty antiquated so some things don't really match what either of us think anymore,  
> 2) I've researched Adria's disability more since and I would change a lot of things in the beginning, but at this point ehhh, too lazyyy, I'll just have to write her better in the future :^)  
> and 3) I don't think either of us expected to write so much about these two, and thus this isn't totally polished.
> 
> Factoring all of that in, please enjoy this regardless!
> 
> Reed writes Tlaloc, I write Adria.

The lobby was always so damn stuffy. Like seriously, did anyone here make sure to clean before they got in here? Or maybe it was how many actually passed through. Still, I can’t deny, it’s convenient. Turf wars are facilitated by the fast travel of it all.

Ugh, and the wait. I held the ticket in my palms which were slowly getting more sweaty. Gross. People around me were so excited, but I couldn’t ever feel that way. How do they just ignore the clammy feeling before a match. Sickening.

After some time, I see my number flash up over a room and I sigh to myself. Finally. In the room are six other inklings--thank the stars, I don’t have to wait in this small room for long--and they all look ready to go.

So fucking happy-go-lucky.

I sneer at a few of them as the screen tells us which room to go into, which color to change our ink to, blue or orange. As it turns out, I am the first to get sorted:  orange. I quickly manipulate my ink to that color and get myself into the even smaller waiting room with the super-jump pad that would take me to the open.

The wait was killing me. I fingered my splash-o-matic out of habit. It was the only thing distracting me from the tight space. I’m pretty sure I meant that “killing me” thing literally.

* * *

BD

Today is a good day, because I’ve finally got the day off for ink battles. While I’m sure my friends would have appreciated the heads up on me being in the city today, I was looking for a little time to myself. Stretch my legs, upgrade some gear.

I grinned as I could tell I was getting close to the tower. The speakers were blasting bass that shook the ground and the chatter of people standing outside greeted me.

As I walked up the stairs, I let myself eavesdrop. Someone talking about new jacket, someone trying to drop a compliment on their teammate (they sounded so shy), someone complaining about carrying their team...

As I approached, I could hear the familiar sliding of the automatic doors and a blast of muggy air.

Somehow the inside of Inkopolis tower was so much louder, and you could feel the room heat up from everyone inside. But it was energizing.

My cane tapped against someone’s shoe, prompting a quick “sorry, ‘xcuse me,” but I snatched my ticket, confirming with the desk which lobby to enter, then making a beeline there.

Already knowing the layout, I found the room, brushing my fingers over the braille number to be sure. As soon as I entered the, I could hear bubbling comments, like“yes, last one!” “we’re all set!” “finally.”

I smirked. Quick wait. I shoved my cane to the side and pulled my Dynamo roller out, positioning myself on the rippling jump pad. The automated voice in my one earbud gave some last directions, and I was set. Orange ink it was.

* * *

 The next person to walk into the small waiting room with me was already letting her roller click along the floor. Thank all things good and holy it wasn’t set to ink. That thing already took up nearly the entire room space and I found myself scooting away from the dynamo user. I turned away trying to pretend she wasn’t in the room.

Out of sight out of mind. Or out of sense out of mind? Whatever.

It was only a little more time until the system sorted out the rest of the inklings into the room and I, before it even filled up, I got myself onto the large jump-pad, before turning to inspect the rest of my team. Besides the roller chick, there was a kid who looked like a total newbie clutching his splattershot jr. and some cocky-looking girl holding an L-3.

I try to look at each one individually without thinking too hard about who they are and what their lives are like and what their sense of fashion and weapon choice says about them… oh wait, I’m doing it again. Fuck. I take a deep breath and look other each one individually, trying to slow my thoughts.

The Splattershot Kid, as I dubbed him, looked new, for certain. Had the basic clothes every new Turf War competitor was given. He looked about fourteen, so maybe this really _was_ his first battle. In which case, damn, our team already has a huge stick up its ass from the get-go.

I flick my gaze to the L-3. She’s totally raring to go, that’s good I guess. She seems a little too hyper-energetic for her own good, though, her grin taking the better half of her face, her teeth flashing sharp--oh, man, gross!

There was something in her teeth. Did she notice that? Should I tell her? No, I. Ugh. I start feeling my teeth with my tongue to see if I have something there as well. No no, mind on the game. Mind on the game. Strategy.

I closed my eyes and pushed up my glasses. I tend to do that whenever I’m nervous. Or neurotic. Or my mind is wandering too far. I am one or all of those. A lot. I guess it makes me look a little snobby. But whatever. It gets me focused again.

I turn to face the second person to enter the room just before the signal tells us it’s time to go. In that moment, I notice that behind her shades, she keeps her eyes closed as she walks with the dynamo rolling over the floor. A synapse fires and the thought clicks.

 _Shit, she’s blind._ A small, blind girl. Well, that’s just _fucking_ novel.

I resign myself to carrying team. As I hear the announcer giving final instructions. This was _not_ how I wanted to spend my first turf war of the day.

* * *

 >B]

I stretch out my shoulders and get ready to roll, _literally._

I get ready to squid up and super jump when my personal voice automation tells me all  players are ready.

There’s a woosh and excited yelping as everyone swirls down their respective spawn point junction. I get the go ahead from the automation but, I wait a moment to follow where only 3 squids enter, then jump down myself, zipping through my portal.

“Walleye Warehouse”

That’s the last thing I need to know before I pop the single earbud out and stash it in my pocket for later. While it’s supposed to tell me things during the matches, I prefer to have both ears open.

Everyone pops up from the spawn, and in these seconds before the match, I focus closely as everyone brings up their weapon and smacks it against thier palm.

My team: Rubber hosing and plastic frames... must be an L-3. Thier feet are bouncing in the ink already.

There’s the clunk of fake brass and a metallic swish... it’s sounds small... so Splash-o-matic. I hear them adjust their glasses.

Quick swing and plastic corners...oh that’s a familiar sound. Splattershot Jr. for sure. Thier shoes have the step of basic creams…. so new player. _Shoot._

And now, the other team. I can hear them faintly as the battlefield remains quiet.

The hollow hit of plastic and a wide swish… I scrunch up my nose. It’s some type of Squelcher. The swing was light, so not a Dual thankfully. The range on those things always takes me by surprise.

The air whooshes as someone swings around a roller--I’m willing to bet it’s a krak-on--, and then I hear the clink of a narrow piping. I scrunch up my nose more. It’s an Aerospray, damnit.

The last person, bless them, is an Ink Brush user. The swish of the bristles is so easy to listen for. I grin, either having to seriously pay attention to them, or not. There is _no_ in between.

And just like that.. the match begins.

* * *

 Waiting for the countdown to finish, I adjust my glasses.

I dash forward immediately when the barrier around the spawn drops, measuring the distance and considering the different paths I could take to where, inking along the way. I begin with the best starting pattern: shoot, move, shoot, move. Meters upon meters covered in ink; manipulation of our quicker swimming speed; safe trails for people to follow.

Hopefully the newbie will pick up the pattern.

Probably won’t.

I don’t have to look to know that I’ve left most of the team in the dust. If the Splattershot Kid knew what he was doing, he would have been keeping up the pace, but he didn’t. He was busy inking spawn. I resist the urge to adjust the glass on the rim of my nose. Ugh.

The L-3, surprisingly, was second up. The only thing holding her back was the fire-speed of the gun. I see her go around the corner of the side path and reevaluate my opinion of her. Maybe she’s not that horrible.

I don’t even bother to consider the dynamo. She can do whatever; those things are slow as hell and as long as she has my back, I don’t care if she’s blinder than an octoling with ink in their eyes.

Speaking of sight, I have my eyes on the prize:  I am almost the first to the center, which I would aim to hold as long as I can. This is where the most turf is and as long as we keep the conflict here in flux, the whole team can get points.

...ideally. But honestly, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I prepare for a few two on three battles, hoping the L-3 has good aim.

I get to the center just before an Aerospray. Quickly, my mind goes through a few notes.

Manipulate range:  important. Force path with bombs; I finger a suction bomb expectantly. I toss and he changes path as expected, then I fire the only direction he can go. I hear him pop just before taking cover behind the center boxes again.

One down, but not for long. I start inking up our side and take note of where everyone is again.

* * *

 >Bo

 As the barrier lowers, the Splash-o-matic takes off first. The L-3 and I jostle down the first narrow stretch where I let them go ahead, positioning myself on the left ledge on the spawn platform level.

I can hear Splash-o-matic speed straight down to the center with rhythmic inking and diving. The sound of the L-3’s triple shot bursts goes to the right, so they have the ramp path.

Raising my Dynamo high, I flick the roller down, raining ink on the 2nd level.

Slowly inching past me, the Jr. is inking their own path, but their shot-fire sounds unusually quick and sparse. They're aiming at the ground, aren’t they? And then filling in small gaps. I roll my eyes, but keep moving.

I dash-jump from my ledge onto the crate in front and start flicking ink high. I take myself down the left platform listening for where the drops fell, hopping around from drop to drop. I start shooting a couple flicks down the center stretch, rolling as a I go.

I’ll leave the leftmost path to the newbie, since no one will go that way for some time if we’re lucky.

Throwing down more ink, I leap towards the next crate in front and skid a sprinkler next to me, ducking in my ink puddle.

Submerged in ink, the Squid Squad soundtrack sounds so fuzzy. But it’s in those quick moments of quiet I can feel the motion of the battle.

Roller is squishing around up high, charging down the high path. Splash-o-glasses is firing ink around the center, and L-3’s bullets are heading the same way but Roller is about to be right on top of them. That’s about to get messy.

The especially loud shots of Squelcher are coming down from the other side’s center-left, and Aerospray? I briefly hear their distinct fire-rate towards the back of the warehouse.

 _Beat to the center_ , I smirk.

I know what Jr. is up to, hearing ink rapidly tack to the floor, but there's one last person…

The slick sound of an ink brush winding down the ramp and through the left loop makes me spring off the crate, roller high above my head. They’re coming around for a sneak attack.

Not on my metaphorical watch.

At the prime altitude of my leap, I swing my Dynamo and unleash its specialty, sending a deluge of ink below.

* * *

 To my right I hear a swish of the brush followed by a prompt splat. What happened made me look over there for at least three consecutive seconds in shock. Blind Girl, who I was pretty sure was going to do third worst just caught one of the fastest rollers (but not really, that classification is cuttleshit) with the slowest frickin’ weapon.

And only a few seconds into the match.

Speaking of seconds, turns out three seconds of mouth agape is enough to get me splatted. In my last moments, my essence sensed someone running through where I was just a moment ago. A Krak-On Splat roller and he didn’t even have his special ready. Damnit all to hell.

A few seconds later, I find myself back at the spawn, embarrassed. How could _I, me,_ get taken out first!? I could feel my rage consume my neurosis and nervousness. Good and bad at the same time. Gotta control myself. Gotta focus.

Constructive, that’s what my psychologist always said. Constructive. I looked over to the newbie and figured I may as well shove some constructivism up someone’s ass.

I swim up to him and pop up behind him jamming my nozzle end into the back of his head, causing him to tumble over. I sneer and say, “kid. Look up; shoot straight; go left. See there,” I point toward the whole left of the map which was mostly left untouched, all thanks to that dynamo.

That dynamo… no, I won’t get one-upped by some Blind Girl! Somewhere back in reality, the kid thanked me and took off in that direction, but I was busy containing burning embarrassment and smoldering rage.

I will win this. We will dominate this. I will make sure of it. And I will beat everyone’s kill to death, mark my words!

I follow my previously made path to the center again and I can see conflict breaking out.

* * *

B/ ??

My ink tidal wave hits its mark with satisfying splat and garbled yelp. When I hit the ground I keep my roller to it, reorienting myself and laying down an extra square of ink. I quickly hop in for a recharge.

Another reason I like the Dynamo specifically, aside from it’s incredible spread. It guzzles ink so I can bide my time refilling.

But it's times like these when my ears deceive me.

Though I’m sure I got to Brushy there, the Splash-o-matic’s fire stops, and then… I hear a belated splat. And it’s them alright. The Splash has a distinct clink even as it falls into a splash puddle.

I grimace. What happened?

The sound of charging sneakers and ink falling off a roller. But far too close for comfort. I exhale through my teeth.  

I try to remember which direction the Splash-o-Matic was firing at to get away, but I end up just backing the fuck up and swinging my Dynamo low, which seems to work. Roller yelps as a wave of ink comes over them.

Nice. I touch my roller to the ground, looking for some wall. If I know where I am, I should be in the loop along left of the center. I swivel around, confirming my location in a corridor.

I pick my roller up and start walking, my shoes getting caught in enemy ink, but only for a narrow band. Perfect, this is where the Ink Brush came from. I start to flick that way, following the trail.

* * *

 When I get back to the center, I see the telltale signs of my death-splat being covered by another splat-death. The arc of the spread says that Blind Girl did that too. Who does she think she is, Daredevilfish?

I sneer and get back to the task at hand. Now that I’m in the thick of things, I know I only have two minutes and thirty seconds to wreck havok. I turn to the right and see the tell-tale signs of an L-3 inking: spotty.

I leave a bomb at the choke point to make sure no one follows me through to the right portion, keep my eyes on the upper scaffolding, and cover the territory more thoroughly.

In the back of my mind, something keeps telling me that someone needs to come. I keep checking back on my watch, willing someone to come from above, from behind… I wanted to shoot them dead.

Sure enough, just as I made the full loop around the area (netting me about a hundred more points) a squelcher had come to be cleaned up. I got my hands on my belt and prepared a bomb. Let’s dance sucker.

Just as he passes the turning point past the grate, the point of no return, I throw the bomb and swim away. As expected, he follows his gut reaction and runs backwards toward the grate, still in explosion range. Turning to squid form to fall, I know I have him, because, guess what? I’m in place.

As he falls, I precisely eliminate the squid before he could become a problem. Heh, take that roller girl! I can handle myself. Speaking of rollers...

There’s the sound of a roller around the corner. This time, I wouldn’t be distracted; I take aim and back up for when he comes out to flick his ink at me. I could beat him before he got me. The stats said I could.

* * *

>BD

Flick and roll through, baby.

I make my way up the ramp, and as I do, my special becomes ready. The usual player would use it without a second thought, but I hold out a little, diving into the ink for a refill.

Someone’s lurking around on the other team’s second level. They’ll move on me fast. As such an overused weapon, it’s ridiculous fire-rate tempo is ingrained in my mind so I know e _xactly_ who it is and what I’m dealing with.

Now for my special. Echolocator.

My favorite feeling in any battle is the sudden clarity I feel as I can hear the direction each arrow flies off into. The location of the squids around me are no longer just general areas marked by the sound of their bullet fire, but brief pinpoints. Like the wind at my side, the sensors gust away, clarifying my perception of the field.

With a quick hop, the sensors zoom out in an instant, but I catch all they reveal.

One zips to the right, a little back. One zips more directly behind me, but far off and the last sensor…

I gain some momentum, swimming and jumping, then make a sharp mid-air turn to swing my Dynamo in the direction of the last zooming arrow.

Aerospray is swimming fast so I miss them, of course, but I grin wildly. My splatter is no laughing matter and I’ve got the altitude advantage. I know exactly where they are and they know it too.

* * *

 As I’m lining up the sights, an echolocator activates… also the Dynamo. In that moment, it allows me to see that the roller has come to attack my side:  clever. As I turn to splat him while still in the ink, I can’t help but feel disgusted at how much this Dynamo is helping.

Inking as I go, I turn back to the main path up to the second tier of the warehouse. There, I see a rain of ink come and chase after what, with my currently enhanced ability to “see,” appears to be another enemy.

Quickly, I go into engagement mode, throwing a suction bomb on the wall just as the enemy squid jumps out of the falling ink’s path. She seems to notice the bomb and swims toward me, obviously trying to either run from me or get into closer range where I would be at a disadvantage.

I still don’t have the turf advantage and only one escape route so, instead of going full offensive and trying to kill in one shot, I ink up the path that the Aerospray would have to go to run, forcing her out of the ink. Quickly, I take cover behind the crate and wait for her to come up to ink my path.

In that moment, I finally notice L-3 jump off of the center crates and with two quick clicks, the submerged squid is down. She looks to me, that smile--still with food in the teeth--plastered on her face.

She takes a quick moment to wink and thumbs up me before jumping off to go back to help Splattershot, who’s taken my advice and is anally covering every piece of turf on the left side of the map.

Well. At least he’s doing something effective? More ink per second anyway.

The echolocator’s ability ending reminds me that I am supposed to be peeved. Again. Again she’s saved me. This Blind Girl.

...maybe I have to admit she doesn’t totally suck.

* * *

<B0

 

One sensor disperses, a static whishing noise signalling the arrow has moved on, but it’s not the one in my immediate area. In fact, it’s not a splat I hear, but a tack of a suction against a wall. Then a timer.

It’s a suction bomb, and frankly, it sounds just out of range but my mind races to remember if it’s friendly or not. I back into my ink anyway, wondering if I was wrong about Roller being Krak-on.

I somewhat lose track of Aerospray, but their fire cues me on their location again. They’ve moved closer towards the center.

I hear another fast fire-rate, whose ink blasts travel just a bit farther...Splash-o-Matic! Suddenly the suction bomb makes sense, and I smirk.

I hope they can handle this player, because I’m going to take my chance to seriously screw over the other team. I swing my roller over to scout out the ramp, running up and trying to cut over to the high path.

Aerospray keeps spraying. I can’t hear any casualties on either side and Splash’s fire has stopped so they probably backed off.

I keep moving. It’s the enemies’ vicinity so I can’t trust my ink swings to clear a safe swimming path so I keep my roller to the ground, even if it’s slow. If I can just get to the grate and turn the corner, I’m golden.

Haha, _no_ , I’m still using a vanilla Dynamo.

From the center, I hear an unmistakable 3-pulse rapid fire unleashed and _Splat._

As Aerospray cries out in defeat, the sensor fizzles away again, leaving one more sensor in play. And I’m willing to bet it’s Ink Brush.

But there’s no chance to revel.  

Methodical drops, shot from afar, come from behind me. A drop hits my foot and I tear away.

Three sensors, two down.  One player was at respawn and it just had to be the Jet Squelcher.

The remaining sensor leaves as the special ends, so great, sounds like Ink Brush got into our half of the field.

I’m running low on ink from rolling, and I wonder if I can turn around in time to hit them… never mind if I can get them at this distance in the first place.

I bite down. _Why the Squelcher_?

The ranged shots…. I just can’t expect them in time.

….Damn it!

* * *

 

I ink up the corridor just below the enemy’s second tier, which Dynamo seems to have somewhat under control. Looking at the map, though, it looks like Squelcher got in the blind period of the echolocator and snuck behind us while we were distracted with Aerospray.

Inksucking, tentatickling, octoloving, motherglubbing fuckfish.

Now Dynamo is frickin’ trapped.

I momentarily consider just leaving her to splat--I really did want the highest ktd--but… ugh, it’s not efficient. Well, let’see if she can respond fast enough and Squelcher isn’t accurate enough to blast her to fucking pieces in the seconds this’ll take.

I shoot a quick stream into the air in Blindy’s direction--the accuracy, range and (most importantly) linearity of the lines I could make were the wonderful part of this weapon--making a getaway path for her.

While the ink fell, I shouted, “Blind Girl! Swim toward me!” Further, I threw a suction bomb to deter the Squelcher from following her. Surely, there would be about a few seconds before Roller would be able to cover that escape route. Okay, maybe like, two seconds (so not exactly a _few_ per se), but there now was a window of opportunity.

Satisfied with my work while simultaneously hoping it didn’t work out, I began to turn away to take out the Squelcher from behind when I hear a “look out!” L-3? Newbie?

More importantly, ‘look out?’ Look out for what? I check my map and see a thin cord of ink running toward me from around the crate corner. Oh, I have no problem with taking out an Inkbrush before the ranger.

I time the shot for when she runs out from behind the crate and pull the trigger before the right moment.

Crag-frakking, cuttlefucking, squidsquashing crabcakes.

I’m… I’m totally out of ink.

* * *

B]

 

Splashed in enemy ink and sinking to my ankles, I jolt with surprise when I regain footing slightly.

“Blind Girl! Swim toward me!”

Splash’s ink shots fall over me, and my mobility is back. A suction bomb lands behind me and at that point, I may have been able to pivot and take the swing, but with Squelcher running and shooting after me, I ditch my path and slip backwards.

 _Ranged weapons_ _arghgh!_

The trail left kindly by Splash-o-Matic, and the beacon of his voice...shit no, _their_ voice, lets me slip away and refill. They sound male, but… I know better than to be presumptuous. Not when there are people like Deniz.

My quick respite in the ink allows me to gain a quick bearing of what’s going on again. No Squid Squad music, just the Squelcher following behind. The two splats from earlier must be at spawn now, and Ink Brush remains somewhere in the center.

Somewhere in the center _close_. I can hear the bristles slathering the floor. We’ll be sandwiched in.

I swim the Splash’s trail, intending to make my way to the center crates for some altitude to cause havoc, but hear a yell: “Look out!”

What, a warning  for the Ink Brush? _Ehehe,_ that’s just... _ironic_.

The yell sounds too far off to be of any help, and feminine, but again, that’s really not my call.

It’s essentially 2 vs 2, but they have the field advantage. And the Squelcher… I think I’ve said my feelings on those. But back to back, fending off the enemy isn’t how it plays out.

I hear… a hollow click. Splash-o-Glasses is out of ink. That futile sub weapon took it’s toll.

I exhale.

Choosing to fight an Inkbrush, close range, or an Squelcher...? Though I'd probably choose Brush anyway, I decide to return a favor.

I swing high.

Ink cascades over, arching over Splash, and arching over Ink Brush as they speed into the safe spot directly in front.

But that flick was all fanfare.

I slam my roller down, then charge.

* * *

 

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I start to back away from the inkbrush, swimming around the corner to maybe get enough ink to take her out, but I know by the time that I’ve got that, it’ll be too late. Also, as it turns out, the inkbrush took out the easy way out with a neat line. Normally, I’d just ink that line, but coming up for that shot might be the death of me.

Path: cut off. Death: likely. Fuck everything deep.

And then, when I turn around to try to take the brush with me, orange ink rains down on both of us, just enough to damage the brush and slow her. Instinct kicks in and it only takes one rapid burst to finish the brush. I take a little lash of the bristle, but nothing I can’t recover in a half-second.

My kill, thank you very much.

I guess what goes around comes around. Still, I couldn’t help but grimace that the Dynamo survived. Fine. Fine, powers that be, she was good. Especially good considering her disability.

Didn’t mean I was going to lose this.

I sneer at her as I super-jump back to base, mostly for my benefit because she can’t even fucking see.

How did she know where everyone was anyway?

Bah, whatever. I have more important matters at hand. Namely, the fact that Inkbrush doesn’t suck. While Splattershot colored meticulously inbetween the lines, Dynamo and I solved our dumb debacle and L-3 did whatever the hell she was doing, Inkbrush slipped by us all and got to our base, all the way to spawn.

I hate, hate, _hate_ to admit it, but she was quick. There were telltale signs of a sprinkler having been left in the right place on tier one, inking up a huge circle right next to spawn. Checking the scanner on my wrist, I see that she took the right route up into our base and covered basically all of tier two before making a dirty splatter-path leading up to trying to kill me.

It was inefficient to try to clean this all up, though, so I shot a ‘v arc’ that would get me the most points in the least amount of time and made my way down to the right side, covering spawn and tier two as best as I could along the way.

Then, I felt it. My Splash-o-Matic was ready to wreck when I was. Bomb rush: ready.

* * *

<B/ ??? 

My roll straight into Ink Brush is a gamble, knowing I could very well get splat before running them over.  But neither of those options happen.

Apparently refilled just enough, Splash-o-Matic takes the last shots. And the Inkbrush in front of us is splat. Poof.

But like, with more inky sounds and disappointed groaning.

I roll through the splat radius like I should be hitting something, haphazardly picking up my roller after I ink through what I could swim.

I  blink.

…What…?

I take a few more absentminded steps, before hearing the shots of an impending Squelcher raining down, up from the 3rd level or most likely the crate.

I zip backwards in squid form to dodge the cascading ink, and bump into the center stack. Simultaneously, I hear Splash-O-Matic super jump away in time to leave me with Squelcher. _Yay._

Right, the center stack, that’s where I intended to go. Yes, that.

As I swing ink behind the crates and duck in my safe pool. I don’t really focus on all the things I should be listening to, like Jr. making their way to through the left loop and probably soon learning why they shouldn’t charge at an Aerospray straight on. L-3 is distinctly to the right and Roller is oncoming.

My thoughts were just muddled.

So what? Splash took the last shot? I wasn’t particularly miffed that they got the kill, but I didn’t expect it.

I _didn’t_ expect it.

Their ink had run out and Ink Brush was close enough to kill… anyone else would have been panicking and flailed with their limited shots.

I popped back up, throwing a sprinkler to the crates in front of the right loop, before ducking again.

I think about that last statement. No, that’s not true. I know plenty of others who might have done the same… They simply saw someone coming and aimed true. It’s all instinct in turf wars.

I rise from the ink again, hearing Squelcher’s shots come closer. They must have realized camping up there wasn’t worth the wait. I take a flick or two to both keep them at bay and dust the box stack with ink to swim up.

Instinct though? That action earlier with the Suction bomb? That was deliberate. _Strategic._ Something I’d expect of Wade or Deniz.

I get up on the tip-top of the boxes but stay submerged.

I don’t understand why this is bothering me. Bothering me..? I’m overthinking things. They were desperate and it was a good shot. Damn good reaction time.

A good player in general, I conclude.

I hear Squelcher ink shoot down the sprinkler, but the actual player is preceding behind slowly, just in range.

With altitude on my side, I raise my Dynamo to have my revenge or at least to cover a lot of ground.

Time to make it _rain_.

* * *

 Only a fool would call “bombs away” now, though. If I’m anything it certainly isn’t a fucking fool. I charge down the narrow hallway, inking a path and checking my radar while I’m still in a safe place.

Looks like Blind Girl has taken to the center and is getting a few good swings in while making herself a bigger target than a newbie shooting down. Speaking of newbies, looks like Splattershot has taken to death. I resist the urge to adjust my glasses. L-3 looks like she’s got his back, having just finished inking up the upper scaffolding on our side, so maybe his death won’t be totally pointless.

I turn my attention back to the matter at hand. My matter at hand. Right side of map: Blue. The consistency with which it is colored makes it clear that the perpetrator is none other than splat-you-while-you’re-fucking-surprised-at-your-disabled-teammate-somehow-kicking-ass Roller.

Mr Opportunistic is gonna pay again, threefold. I ink up the blue turf and make a neat line to cut off easy swimming access out of this side of the map and begin to hose down the area, fanning out the area to make swimming hazards.

Still, I don’t see him. I sink into the puddle below me, making sure I have a way back just in case Roller tries to jump me, and refill. I’m not making the same mistake twice in the round.

After a second or two of sustained refilling, I manifest my inkling form and simultaneously grasp another suction bomb from the Splash-o-Matic, lobbing it at the most likely escape route:  the far side of a small corridor created by a thin barrier.

As per my usual tactic, I go through the other side, inking a short path ahead of me. This should push the roller into fight or flight. Now now, Mr Opportunity, which will you choose?

I’ve made flight hard, and at this range, assuming he’s hiding in the corner I’m expecting him to be, he’s in a bad range to attack me. All said, I’m all for him trying to jump me. I have every advantage and as I press him, he’s gotta pick one.

“Come at me you son of a zapfish!” I jab in the corner.

That did the trick. He jumped out of the ink and swung his roller up high, an angry look on his ugly face. I cover it up with nice, orange ink so I don’t have to look at it anymore. His roller never makes it back down.

Another one bites the dust.

* * *

 Hello naughty _Squelcher_ , it’s _Dynamo time_.

That is to say, I do splat them but not very tactfully.

I graze them with my first random flick, catching their attention from what I can tell, because they start aiming in the right direction. We just start frantically tossing ink at each other, trying to splat each other first.

While my ink waves block their shots, I’m still getting hit and and the Dynamo’s fatal flaw is it’s speed, so when I hear them struggle with their feet caught in the stray splatter, I slip backwards and down unnoticed (probably) to loop around. Rising up for one close flick and I obliterate them in an explosive splat.

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding, grinning ear to ear, mostly because I didn’t expect that to work.  

With a quick dip in the ink to get rid of the “blue”, I toss a sprinkler somewhere high...probably a wall… and reswim my tracks back to the top box stack.

I let my ears do a quick survey as I’m under ink.

In the right corner do we have... Jr? Nope, no where to be heard, but L-3 is tangoing with Aerospray. It’s up to them to utilize the L-3’s impressive range and fire rate. The reigning lightweight champion --since Splash-o-Matic itself as a light weapon-- is tackling… someone in the left corner.

I listen for a second. Lots of Splash-o-matic shots are definitely flying, but it’s not until I hear a makeshift insult and noisy splat-splash that I sort of get what happened. Sort of,

To be fair, zapfish live a _really_ long time and if you were one of their offspring, you’d get cool electric powers. But in any case, I hear who I can assume is Roller is heading back to spawn the _fun_ way, their non-corporeal self floating back.

I give an amused huff and shake it off.  I’m distracting myself with this particular Splash-o-matic again and their colorful insults, but now I hope Judd doesn’t have good hearing as well.

Standing my ground on the boxes, I start going to town, aiming to flick ink on the entire center radius around the stack utilizing what Corey has accurately named the Dynamo’s rain dance.

_Blind prophet correctly predicts the rain! Breaking news, she has actually summoned the rain! Whole thing is hoax, blind prophet actually not prophetic, mostly just blind._

Hehe. Oh, _Corey._

I certainly am blind and but not oblivious.

My ears prick and my hands tighten on the Dynamo. I’m no longer left to do as I please in the center, and I’m certainly not alone.

* * *

 As I come down from the glory of precise inking, I come to the realization that there are probably more players and take note of statuses. L-3 is down for the count, lost to Aerospray (goddamnit) and he’s now making his way to the center. Let’s hope that Super Blind Girl can handle him too.

A thin trail is appearing on the map over the scaffolding above and I curse as I realize that I don’t have the ink to deal with an inkbrush. For fuck’s sake.

I dive down to avoid her before she comes close and the last thing I see is a sprinkler being placed on an annoyingly high perch on the main wall, sure to undo my work if left alone. I _just_ inked that!

But there’s nothing I can do. I swear, I’m not going to lose the same way I did before. I swallow the bile that comes whenever I run away--no no, it’s a “tactical retreat...” yeah that--and go back up the right ramp before deciding how to approach this issue.

1) I could go straight back after my ink refills and attack head on. Yes? No? No, inkbrush knows what she’s doing and will just run from me. The effort will come to a zero-sum on points. Ignore that gung-ho side. Cool the rage. Cool.

2) Attack from a different angle. I could swim around or superjump to Roller. Yes? No? Yes.

I refuse to consider the third option and just run away. I will not back down from the fight. I will allow my anger that much. The inner conflict in a turf war was just as interesting to sort and organize as the actual battle. This is fun.

 _This_ is _fun_.

I superjump to Blind Girl, who is currently on the center stacks, and hope to give her a bit of a scare as I prepare to run down to face my combatant.

* * *

 My faith in L-3 is misplaced because the Aerospray’s insufferable fast-firing starts turning towards the center.

While I’m taking high swings to ink areas and try to keep it at bay, Aerospray moves methodically during my swing wind up, and starts inking in and around my range. While I try to predict where they’ll head, my ink ends up one area behind.

I throw a sprinkler to the crate stack on the right to try to cut them off, but if I actually them want to stop _covering my ink_ , I better have a good plan. One that gets around being fronted by rapid fire and makes up for leaving the crate attitude.

I keep my ink barrier going, but it sounds like they’re getting more ink than me from just zipping around. This camping isn’t paying off.

…Auugghh... I can’t keep up!

A “pinging” noise breaks my focus. The wrist screen, mostly useless to me except in these few rare occasions, starts ringing and alerting me that someone is superjumping my way.

My first thought is that it’s either Jr. or L-3, having just been shot back to spawn. I jeer to myself. _Great._ I’ll have to guard the spot that I can’t see in the first place, which has probably just planted itself like a visual alarm on the top of the center crate.

But... I can use that to grab Aerospray’s attention.

Hearing the pinging stop, I hop over to the other crate stack, figuring the least I could do was not knock my decoy off right away with a stray swing.

I welcome the extra ink from the short hop, but the time it cost me lets Aerospray weave in range. So in the ink I stay, recovering for a close combat firefight.

Shoes touch down and my mystery guest lands on the other twin box peak. Their shoe sounds aren’t what I expect. It isn’t who I expected. But they have been surprising me lately.

The clinky sound of brass doodads and the air-cutting nozzle is all I need to hear.

Ah.

_Ohhh._

_Well, I already took care of Squelcher, if you wanted to help with that._

...Is what I want to say, but they can probably aim for the Aerospray better than I can.

Actually... I think about the other players on our team. What is Splash doing here? That last splat was theirs. Why congregate players instead of spreading out?

I form up from the ink and start raising my Dynamo for a downward swing, making sure to face Splash-o-Matic’s way.

_I’m all ears if you have a plan._

* * *

~~Bleep boop mwahaha I am Reed and I wrote things ← not me~~

 My splatlust blows away every inkling of a plan that I had. So my ktd-love blows away my common sense and logical planning sometimes. So shoot me.

Turns out someone was ready to do just that from the getgo and I see the spray of ink from an aerospray prepared to mow me down. Gotta react fast. I make the snap decision to shoot down instead of trying to kill him and use the window of opportunity I have to take cover behind the right stack.

Later. He’ll die later.

I use my cover to make a new path to the right side of the map where Inkbrush’s work has become clear as day. I’ll be at a disadvantage, but it’s no fun if I’ve always got one over them. Still, Aerospray has been making my path there even harder so I figure it’s time.

You better take advantage of this opening Blind Girl or I’ll splat you myself!

I release my special with a nice flash, refilling the ink in my gauge, the Splash-o-Matic’s dispenser flashing green, telling me that the array of bombs is “ready and waiting to clean up.” Time to wreck shit.

I throw two bombs up in Aerospray’s direction, designed to put pressure on the paths to get to me; leave me alone!

Then, I throw two bombs down both sides of the corridors, then pepper the whole right field. Now, I can probably make my way around.

I swim in, hopping up to cover more ink as I go, when Inkbrush comes running out of the left side of the wall, thinking she’s ready to face me, right through the explosion of the suction bomb.

Yes, gotcha! I line up the sights and hold down the trigger.

She sees me and starts the swings; I take a little splatter. I know I’m on the edge--that sprinkler didn’t stop being a thing, le-duh--and I’m almost down. Just a few more hits. Just a few… and she’s down and, more importantly, I’m not.

“Yes!!!” I exclaim, just in time to notice that I’m in ground zero for an inkstrike.

“Oh hello there,” I snarkily say as the missile explodes above me, “I have two friends on each of my hands that would like to say hello to you.”

Then, the sky blacks out and I get ready for a painful shower.

* * *

~~Huurr durrr im ammy i write stuff and am tired~~

_Well…_ I don’t know what I was expecting.

I mean, I didn’t need a riveting speech or a detailed battle plan, but a vocal “nod” of recognition would have been nice.

Maybe they actually nodded. _Shit_.

Splash definitely draws the Aerospray’s attention and springs off the crates before they’re shot through, though I flick ink to their defense. Aerospray cries out when hit, their shoes logged with ink. I take this chance to safely back down from the crates, having overstayed my visit, and aim my roller head at them. I miss and they swim away, but I it’s essentially 2 against 1.

...Right?

No wait, I lied. Splash starts shooting ink to the right.

Because….they just came from the right and that makes sense.

I give a kind of confused frown to the floor, but decide that I can go after Aerospray myself. I curve around the center box and try to hone in on them, hoping they’re still mesmerized by the incoming Splash-o-Matic

My plan is to listen through the ink while swimming and dunk them with my roller, but I’m thrown off by the piercing sound of soaring suction bombs.

I back off reflexively, and all but lose track of Aerospray, and possibly Splash-o-Matic if not for the cacophony of suction bombs exploding in quick succession towards the right loop. Splash’s Bomb Rush without a doubt.

But now I’m just disoriented, and Aerospray’s run away from the two bombs planted in their direction. They stop shooting --so I can’t follow them-- and yet I know they haven’t been splatted yet.

I start flicking random directions, popping in and out of the ink, hesitant to draw attention to myself now. If I could just hear one stray ink blast…

The sound of a missile shoots into the air from behind the crates outside the left loop.

_Aha._

I ink my way up the crates, ready to fall on top of them, but I’m pleasantly beat. In their moment of vulnerability, L-3 catches them, splats them, then takes off up the ramp, but not before sending me a “Booyah.”

I recognize the vortexing InkStrike off in the left corner, and I’m suddenly concerned about the state of our half of the field, but I’m in no position to head back.

 _Oh, if only...if only someone were conveniently back at respawn--_ No, I hear Glasses yelling into oblivion as they get caught dead center in the InkStrike. _They_ can clean up the base if they’re smart.

Instead, I think I’ll rendezvous with L-3, up in the enemy base. I tap the crate sides with my dynamo for some direction, and start charging down the middle towards the first ramp.

* * *

Alright, so it wasn’t the best plan.

Alright, so there wasn’t a plan at all. I take a deep breath. I exhale slow. Then the music picks up pace. And I remember. Right. There is a win condition.

I look at the wrist monitor as I clean up little spots on the base. We’re not doing incredibly bad, by my standards. I really did win out on the right side and that area is almost entirely orange as a result. Splattershot is trying his best to beat back the left side, but it’s covered in blue. Candidates:  Squelcher; Roller; both.

L-3 and Dynamo were teaming up and taking the enemy base, good. The middle is a little in flux, but mostly orange. Our base still needs some cleaning, but that’s what I’m doing. In general, as long as we don’t screw up, we should be fine.

My habit wins out and I take a moment to adjust my glasses. I’ve covered a bit more of the center and figure the best way to continue would be to help Splattershot in his endless charge into the left side of the field.

I make my way down, skipping the ramps, jumping from crate to crate and catch up with Jr, who doesn’t seem to notice that his Bubbler is ready and is about to run into Roller _and_ Squelcher. Sure, he can’t see that from his position but _oh my god stop just running into enemy ink!_

I shoot at his feet, jump down behind him, and pull him back just as a stream from Squelcher passes by his face.

“Thanks man--”

“Don’t ‘thanks man’ me!” I interject as I lead his hand toward a button on the grip. I try not to think about how sweaty it is. “Remember this button and press it when you hear the ping; it’s a special.” That should do for now and I press the button activating the bubbler, protecting us both.

I shooting forward in more ways than one, I make a path to get into the enemy territory. Roller looks to have moved on to the center area, but Squelcher seems to be protecting the area. That just means one thing:  he’s gotta die.

* * *

 I head up the ramp into real enemy territory, but this time, I plan to make it count.

Begin, Level Three. I start sending ink in waves, ever so slowly edging my way to the next ramp. I toss some ink on the upper left ledge, knowing that that was where I got stuck earlier, but follow the sound of L-3’s staccato closely. They’re just in front of me.

I’ll mess up this level, which is no sweat with my Dynamo-baby here, then I’ll back up L-3 as they try to charge up the 2nd ramp.

Though it’d be nice to waltz up here, I expect resistance, like Ink Brush zipping down here with fury in their inked glide. I recall my own last splat; they’ll have an Aerospray RG at their back as well.

As I edge close along the wall and sink into my own ink, the Squid Squad track gets upbeat. With the zippiest enemies and our own splatting power to be reckoned with, this last minute is going to be intense.

And that’s alright. I can hear Ink Brush oncoming, traveling faster than swimming and swerving around sporadically. Now, if I were them, the obvious choice to peck off is L-3, probably when stuck ink-less on the ramp, and then I’d get the jump on myself from the ledge.

Hmm, they do have the terrain advantage for sure.

But if I can time one close range swing I’ve got them, though it’s too close quarters for much else. But before I get ahead of myself...

I straightened up out of the ink, loosen my shoulders and adjust my grip. One ink tidal wave over L-3, coming up.

Brushy is just on time, but I keep them back with that arch of ink and L-3 finds themselves greeted with a puddle at the end of their climb.

Ink Brush puts their bristles to the ground-- they dash through the ink like it doesn't exist-- and they start to lash out on L-3 but I’m ready with another swing. Albeit weaker at this range, the flick connects.

Dripping with ink, Ink Brush makes a hasty pivot towards the ramp path and I expect them to leave for the center so I shout out, “Head to the left!” before picking up my Dynamo and trying to scramble up to level two myself.

L-3 is already on the job, shooting and swimming, but not before flinging a stray disruptor in front of me.

A disruptor that hits something and activates.

I grin wide. The impact of the disrupter cues me exactly to where Aeropray is squirming under the ink, and I drop my roller on them without a second thought.

 _Splat_ and their ghostly form whines and flies back a few feet, leaving me those few precious seconds alone, near the base.

I don’t waste them. I roll behind the crate and I fill up on enough ink to throw a sprinkler, then inch my way back to the path opening to keep Aerospray boxed in.

I know, I know _. Cheap._

But I can afford that in these last seconds of the match.

I wait in a puddle at the foot of the spawn level, my ears catching L-3 doing their best to ink the high path and--

I zip backwards, dodging an Ink Brush slash, but feeling an enemy streak of ink go across me.

I grit my teeth.

I was wrong. Shit _I was wrong,_ they didn’t go to center, just retreated for a moment to catch me off guard.

My ears go alert, listening back and forth to what I need to keep track of. L-3 is still inking, moving slower to get more ink down, and Aerospray is back, already leaping onto the crate to take out my sprinkler. Ink Brush is charging at me, knowing I can’t match them at close range.

Two on one… there’s too little space and time to mess up, but at this point I just need to stall so…

_You can do it, L-3._

I back through the path L-3 made, luring the two players in for one clean flick. Brush rushes straight in on me, Aerospray following close behind. I can hear the Ink Brush swinging right in my face, as my Dynamo crashes down and then--

I’m down.

My weapon falls as I completely burst.

But I didn’t go down alone and that’s what counts.

* * *

 “Five seconds,” I note for Splattershot. “Cover left while I cover you,” I noted before dashing toward Squelcher’s location. Five seconds indeed.

It looks like she considered running, but the area was boxed in and she’d have to turn away from me to ink a path. And we all know how that goes. Too little, too late.

So that leaves about three seconds to ink that path down the left side in an attempt to close in on her. Unfortunately, it occurred to me that this is a bad idea only a little too late. This is a long narrow corridor and a bomb would have been a better option from the beginning. As it is, she’s covering up my area _and_ knocking me back before I can even move forward.

With a second left, I move back to retreat. Junior has covered a good portion for me to fall back into to formulate another plan of attack when I hear a sickening sound. The ding of a Kraken transformation.

Well, this is going to suck.

Custom Jet Squelcher came back down the path that I’d covered and it occurred to me, finally. Ktd doesn’t always matter. The desire to dominate was something I had to swallow as I said, “Junior, superjump to base.”

“Why?”

“Do it!” There’s no time for questions, noob. I swim backwards, toward the left path and come up out of the ink, pointing my free hand in a middle finger toward the Kraken. “Bite. Me.”

I sink back down the ink and swim around the corridor, watching my sensor all the while. Krakens were always easy to track. Covering the turf behind the wall, I swim forward--she was following my path directly, so all I had to do was outrun her. Since she was a Kraken, I would cover more ground and earn more points. Played right, I might even take her down.

So, I loop around the wall as she follows me, gaining ever so slightly each second. But she couldn’t stay in that form for too long--likely about two more seconds. So, at where I estimate she has a second left, I turn around to get a good look at her up close.

A few feet away, the gigantic, ugly squid form approached inexorably. I raise my gun as I quip, “a marked improvement on your looks, I’d say!” In truth, I honestly wanted to puke. The Kraken form as so inelegant and rough. _Ugh disgusting_.

I let the rapid fire shots blow back the beast and my bile. She dodges a bit as she loses her monster-form and swims back the corridor… right into two quick bursts from L-3. As she passes through, my ally’s toothy grin is visible, even from this distance--though the something in her teeth has disappeared.

Yeah I’m not gonna thank her.

* * *

 With time running out, the seconds lost spawning are agonizing. In these moments, I feel… somewhat lost. But only until my Dynamo is back in my hands.

Aha, now this is the fun part.

And by fun, I mean…. I have a _very_ vague idea what shape the gamefield is in right now.

People usually ask me how I can tell where enemy ink is which is an interesting question, which has an interesting answer because I can’t.

I can’t tell. Not between different colors. Duh.

I used to exclusively check for where I got stuck trying to move and that got me splatted pretty often. These days, I think I’ve got a strategy that works.

Now that time is running out, I’ve got limited time to ink up useful locations, so I slip off the spawn point and start swimming like mad.

The key to being fast with the Dynamo is to know where you want to be so I listen to my surroundings, trying to find a source of ink I can follow or put a stop to.

The final ten second countdown starts thumping. In these last moments, both sides-- winning or losing-- are desperate. And I love it. The Squid Squad track amping up only helps. There's no caution or self preservation in these last ditch attempts and _that’s_ how I hear roller so deftly.

They aren’t ducking in ink or tactically hiding, just tearing through the center field. And that’s where I’ll make the most obnoxious dents in the last second.

I swim down the levels quickly, bouncing to the crate on the left. I resist setting down a sprinkler --that’s ink I can’t recharge fast enough-- and flick some ink, rolling with the momentum into the open.

No need to worry about small spots. I can hear Jr. gradually making their way down our ramp and I’m sure they’ve kept the base tidy. But in all seriousness, up close, their fire-rate sounds more normal. They must have got good and started shooting straight.

Rolling is too slow. I just start flicking and running, sending my own color where I get stuck kicking up ink, and flicking wherever just to make it count. The last seconds, the last few flicks. I slide past the center crates and turn to face Roller head on. It won’t matter if we splat each other now, but hell if I won’t splat them anyway.

Their swing might be quicker, but with a leap in the air, I bring down a final flick that I’m not sure even sure will land at this point. Ink slams down hard. Before time ends… they cry out and their weapon slips.

And _this_ is why my roller game is stronger than yours, sucker.

“GAME”

* * *

 I make my way down the now unguarded left hallway up to the enemy second tier and begin the final ink-up; it’s the final countdown.

I hardly notice, as I spray the fuck outta the tier, focusing on Aerospray for a few seconds as they tried to jump down to stop me. No no, I can’t afford distractions. Even if they involve insatiable splatlust. In fact, especially if they involve insatiable splatlust.

I watch my points rise and rise as I cover the tier, but I knew that it didn’t take too long to fill the whole area with orange, so I make my way up the ramp to the third tier. Looks like the Blind Asshole made her way here and ruined a perfectly good “last ten seconds pointrush.”

There’s a little though to the right, leading to the scaffolding, so I start going down the path before my mental processes kick in with a quick “hey asshole, yeah you, Loc, behind you.” Right, Squelcher is going to be somewhere around here. Possibly gone down the ramp to the right, but…

I turn around before the stream hits me and I retreat into the saffron puddle left by my sightless ally. Five seconds. No specials this time, buddy. I’ve closed the distance--their only advantage--and pop up at the last second to pop a cap in their ass.

As the final second came down, I got to see the look of shock on Squelcher’s face as I literally stabbed her shirt with the point of my Splash-o-Matic. “Bang bang” I quipped as nonchalantly as I could muster.

I pulled the trigger and she burst as the final second came down.

“GAME” the responder on my wrist announces.

Judd waits, of course, until all the losers respawn so we can see the stats at the last moment, so I holster my gun and take deep breaths. As the adrenaline wore off, I could feel the disgust come back. Ughhh, I had stains all over my shirt. It came off easy enough, but the sick, oily feel of the ink finally sunk in and I had to fight the urge to strip off my overshirt altogether.

Instead, I let myself adjust my glasses, which also have a bluish stain on them. I take out my lens cleaner out of my pocket protector and start to polish my specs as I mindlessly make my way to the center of the warehouse, near the stacks, where a superjump-pad would be waiting to take us back to the lobby.

Once we bounce back to the lobby, I check my monitor--we won, that much as obvious (I covered the most turf, thank you very much)--and flick to the only important page. Kills, deaths, ink coverage. 7-2, not bad. Not good either. Then I see Blind Girl… Adria? Nah I prefer Blind Girl. I see Blind Girl’s ktd… 5 to fucking 1. I would have beat her. I _would have_ beat her if she hadn’t just _distracted me_ at the beginning.

I look up and scan around until I see her and “you! Blind Girl!” I shout before I can stop myself. Well, may as well enjoy the hell outta this, at least. I let the lava in me, the anger volcano that bubbles just below the crust of my skin was going to erupt and that always felt fan-fucking-tastic. “I know you can hear me just fine! You and me need to trade some fucking words.”

* * *

 Returning back to the game hub we started in, there’s an air of anticipation as Judd reveals the results. Well, maybe it’s obvious right away, but results are always a surprise to me. I try to stand out of the way, as to not block the largest monitor, instead listening though one earbud to the results.

Deniz tells me I have the automation tuned up to a ridiculous talking speed, but I can just listen quicker and enjoy the victory at the same time as everyone else. Speaking of which, I can practically hear the Newbie beaming and the L-3 player bounding off the ground in joy.

The other team just sounds despondent, the Squelcher smashing their gun against the ground in despair. I grin. We’re all sore losers here.

I’m actually pretty curious about the stats this time. The computer screws up some name pronunciations, like who the hell is “Clara-colon-parentheses” (L-3), but I listen closely to the coverage score. I’m clearly somewhere close to 1000p, but I expect to ink the most ground. Yet, another team member comes out at least 200p above me.

I blink. Must be Splash-o-matic. Thier name sounds like “Lock”, but I tap over the top my wrist screen to hear it spelled out without the last “k”. Hmm, sounds like they ended getting more splats in total, too. I was second fiddle to them in pretty much everything else.

I check one last thing, my gear upgrades. The comfy hoodie I have on gets its last slot randomized and it’s a Quick Super Jump...so that’s a little obsolete to me, considering I almost never superjump. I figure I’ll just throw my Striped Long sleeve back on before I head into Ranked.

What can I say? I have a weakness for Ninja Squid if it means people can see me a little less easily. It evens the playing fields, in a matter of speaking.

Still toting around my Dynamo, I start to head out, intending to shift around my equips, when I hear a shout. Same voice as _“Come at me, you son of a zapfish”._

“You! Blind Girl!”

Well, that’s obviously directed towards me.

“I know you can hear me just fine! You and me need to trade some fucking words.”

My first thought is that they could have worded that last part better and that my mind needs to get out the sewer grates. I stop for a moment, wondering if I should at least stop to “trade words”, but my hold on the Dynamo reminds me I’m still lugging around a goddamn weapon.

I love you so, Dynamo, but you’re clunky, so I keep moving towards the door, figuring it’d be more appropriate to not crush them mid-shout. It sounds like they’re following me anyway, so cool.

Right, because angry swearing and following someone is always a good sign.

I start responding as I walk though; maybe I can defuse this before I get to the lobby. They’re probably just mad about getting Inkstrike’d on or something.

“...Sure? What is this about?”

* * *

 “Oh, you know,” Tlaloc began coyly, “nice game, fun times, good inking and _you ruined_ my kill to death you _blind excuse_ for a _half-baked_ ink-battler!”

 Adria pursed her lips. She replied blankly, “...What? I… I did what?”

 “Oh, there’s no way you don’t know what, missy!” Tlaloc’s toe began to tap impatiently against the floor. “You ruined my K. T. D. The ratio between kills to deaths. Mine would come to roughly 3.5 to 1, but if someone hadn’t _distracted me_ I would have been a solid 7 to 1. Capiche? Do you ever even look at the scoring charts? No, right, you don’t. ‘cause you’re _blind_.”

 Adria gave a short huff. “Okay, so you’ve _clearly_ get this concept of me being blind down...and that’s probably why I don’t recall _distracting_ you,” she exhaled. “And for the record, I listen to the scores,” she said, pulling out her earbuds, “and you did pretty well last match.”

 “Well, I would have done _better_ if you hadn’t--oh wait, you don’t think you distracted me?” Tlaloc’s face twisted into a grimace. “Hah! You’re blind in more ways than one! The fact that you play at all is amazing; that you _did well_ was dumb. Stupid good. Now accept the backhanded compliment and apologize!”

 Adria was confused, dumbstruck. “I’m... sorry I did well...?” She paused like there was a punchline to this. She pursed her lips again. “Okay, good talk. I was going to head to Ranked, so thanks?”

 “Hell no!” he continued, “now, give me your ID!” He held out his hand expectantly.

 “Wow! That sounds… _awful._ How about ‘no’.”

 “How about shut the fuck up and let me see the piece of plastic?”

 Adria’s mouth quirked in irritation, but she dropped her shoulders and complied. “Yeah, _sure,_ alright. Hold this.” She forcefully thrust her Dynamo handle at him, then started pulling out ID.

Tlaloc snatched the Dynamo from her hands, grimacing a bit under the transfer of weight, but he propped against his shoulder as he waited, scowl still on face.

 She grabbed her ID out of her hoodie pockets, running her fingers over the top braille to check if it was her bus pass or not. As much as she thought this was a bad idea, she held up her ID close to her face.

 The other kid snatched the ID away and scanned it quickly. Then he handed it back to her, holding the Dynamo back in her direction too, tapping it to the ground a bit to make noise. “That’s all I needed. We’ll see each other again.”

 Adria looked surprised as the ID was taken, and then surprised again as it was thrust back into her hand. A befuddled expression was plastered over her face, mostly about the conversation as a whole, but she couldn’t resist one last jab. “Well... I’m sure _you_ will.”

 He sneered, then grinned ever so slightly. “Fine. You got me there. I’ll look forward to our rematch for the both of us.”


	2. Title Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genuinely the title of the document. We stopped caring about the titles. xD 
> 
> Also that delicious 1st person POV gets dropped, but it was during this both of us were like "are you shippin' this? I'm shipping it" so I'd like to think it evens out. Even though the writing this is probably the worst, it's probably my favorite.

A small frown appeared on her face. “So that’s what that was about? You could have just asked.” She swung her hand over and grabbed her roller, giving a small sigh. “Well, I don’t know when that rematch is going to happen because I’m not at Inkopolis all the time.” She pushed up her own glasses, “But I guess we can hope our time slots overlap.”

 

“If there are two things I hate more than anything,” Tlaloc began, “it’s hope and luck. I have your name, address, and battle ID, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get ahold of you again. That’s why I asked for your ID? Duh?”

 

Adria remained tight-lipped, looking rather concerned “Are you serious..?  _ Please  _ don’t randomly show up at my apartment, _ ”  _ she whined.  _ “Do you realize how weird that is?”  _

With a frustrated groan she conceded,  “Look, I’ve got a weird schedule, but I’ll see when I’m open!” 

 

“Yeah, you had best do that so that I can show you some fucking art,” he grinned, snobbishly. “Or rather I would, if you could see. Maybe you could taste it or something. How is it that you even get around and like, understand your surroundings? Do you just sort of listen to it? I guess I’ll make music. Or something equally artistic.”

He forgot where he was going with that. He meant to insult her somewhere in there, but he’d lost track of his train of thought. Reel it in. Reel it in. 

“Wait, what kind of fourteen-something-pubertyish kid has like, a schedule with something in it besides Turf Wars? Besides myself, of course.” He looked out at everyone else around them and said, “isn’t that the ‘hip’ and ‘fresh’ thing right now? Or rather always has been? The sport of making a mess? Like isn’t this what you guys live and breathe?”

 

“Well, I’m not your average ink battler, am I?” she replied, a little tartly. “I take classes outside the city most of the time; this is more of a hobby. I’ve… got other things I need to focus on,” she said, throwing her Dynamo over her shoulder, making sure to swing away from the direction of his voice.

“And yes, I do listen to my surroundings,” she smirked. “From the sounds of it, you don’t come here often either, do you?”

 

“No, I come here basically every day. But not for fun,” he gritted his teeth adjusting the spectacles on his nose. “Someone has to show people how it’s done. The idiots don’t beat themselves.”

“But…” he admitted, “yeah, if I had my way, I wouldn’t be here all the time. I’ve got better things to do. Like making sure I have the steps for my divertissement in the local production of Fin Lake down like a fall into Octo Valley.”

 

Adria  _ hm’ _ d, hearing the lining of distaste. “You sound like Zale, except we actually have to drag him away at end hours. I’d like to think he enjoys being here,” she sneered. “You even both even have glasses!”

“Oh,”Adria perked up, seeming to remember something. “ I was wondering why your glasses were so loud. Your glasses must be real then.”

 

“Yeah. I’m blind like you without my four eyes,” Tlaloc groaned. “Are we going to talk for much longer? Being around all these people is making me nervous. Or annoyed. Or grossed out. I can’t quite tell, it’s usually one or all of the above. People are just kind of gross when they aren’t being interesting and they sure as sushi-based-shit aren’t being interesting right now. Right now there are just a lot of them.” He shuddered.

 

“No, we’re done here then,” she said decisively, moving towards the exit. “Why don’t you pick out a new weapon since we just left that lobby?” 

She tacked on, “It’s quieter there.”

 

“I’ll go with you; anything to escape the rabble… I don’t feel much like ‘playing’ anymore anyway,” he followed her to the locker room, eyeing anyone that looked at him even the slightest bit differently than he thought they should. People, the grossest thing out there. People, the only interesting thing out there. He tried to ignore them all for the time being, though so focus on this girl.

She seemed like she was out of a storybook. A blind girl overcoming her disability and pissing all over the competition, proving that perseverance and love and friendship and all that cuddlefish-crap could clamber over any issue. But here there was this girl, a living testimony to fairy tales.

The locker rooms were not quiet, per se, but they were less noisy than the main tower lobby. The changing booths and actual lockers themselves were useful for various reasons, so people were always coming and going, but rarely staying long. But it was nicer in here. More time to just stop and think and ignore the sweaty smell that always permeated the place. Conversation… conversation… hmm, “Welcome to the locker rooms, paradise on the planet, home of gear and the pungent odor of the body. Are you changing equipment, or what?”

 

“Gear change for Ranked! I’d rather have my best on for dropping back down to B” she laughed, half at her joke, half at Tlaloc’s commentary. Shoving her Dynamo away for now, she let her hands skitter along the other rollers she had, searching for her cane. 

...It was taking a little longer than usual to find .

“So  _ divertissement.  _ A stage production?”

 

“Yeah, totally,” Tlaloc said, adding a genuine tone to his voice. Overly genuine. Ironically genuine. “It’s just about a step up from a talent show or a one-year-old’s birthday party. The only one there to see you is still your mom, but at least you have a chance in a million to prove yourself to a few more people.”

 

Adria gave a dry, nervous laugh at the somewhat personal scenario. “ I guess I wouldn’t really know, theater isn’t really my forte.” 

Now, pretty much convinced her cane was buried somewhere, she sidestepped her locker. “Uhm, can you see where my cane is?”

 

“Nothing here but a whole shitton of rollers,” hey, it was the truth! Tlaloc poked his head in to get a better look. “like, what am I even looking for? Like a long thin rod? Markings? Do you have a description? Because I can’t find this thing like a dolphin--sound isn’t exactly my forte.”

 

“It’s… it’s a white cane. White… black and red?” The holy trifecta of why-isn’t-there-blank-color-ink. “I mean, if you can’t notice it right away it probably isn’t there.”

She started thinking outloud. “...If it’s not there, is it still in the room? But it would have been sent back by now… Unless someone grabbed it, then...”

She paused to collect her thoughts, before reaching over to close the locker door. “Damnit. I think I know where it is.”

 

There were conflicting feelings in the boy. One was to make a wisecrack and make fun of her situation. The other was a legitimate worry that this girl wouldn’t be able to get home. What would be comforting... “Why do you need your cane for ranked anyway? I mean, if you know where it is, life’s golden, you can get it later.”

Solid right there. Won at least an internet. ...yeah it didn’t sound all that consoling.

 

“Ha ha, yes, but I’m probably better off finding it early. If someone grabbed it, it’s probably just sitting in the lost and found,” she said, trying to brush aside the worry she could hear in the boy’s voice. He was transparent, in the “metaphorical” sense of the word, between clever quips. 

If she waited, all that meant was she’d have to ask Zale for help later.  _ Which  _ she wouldn’t need to do. Not today _. _

Trying to stay lighthearted she replied, “It’s fine, I misplace my cane a lot. I should know where to go.”

 

“Well, then, you should get it as fast as you can, can I... or something,” he began, but now that he’d started thinking, the thoughts kept flying around. This might actually be a pretty bad situation.  _ Maybe I should mind my own business. She probably doesn’t want any help. She seems independant enough. Then again, what if she’s just trying to make it not seem like a big deal so that I wouldn’t worry? That’s also a possibility. Help? Don’t help? _

“Do you, um, nah, but, would you,” the words of the different vacillating thoughts were sort of slipping out as he moved from idea to idea, from one extreme to the other and the way it was coming out of his mouth was not his usual eloquent self. 

 

Adria shut her locker. “Would I…?” pausing for a finished sentence.

 

“Arrrrrrrrrrrgh!” yeah it was only a matter of time before something in his head detonated. “Isn’t this supposed to be, like, cute or some shit!? I’m asking if you want help or want me to leave you alone to do whatever so we can both get on what whatever the fuck we were doing!”

 

She found herself snickering at the outburst. “Well, yes, it would be easier to get through the Tower lobby with someone walking me,” she said, already edging towards the exit, guiding herself with a hand brushing against the wall. “Just so I don’t walk into people.” 

She rolled her eyes and jested, “ _ I’m sorry, _ is this supposed to be cute?” 

 

“Well, you do have the whole moe factor going for you and all, blind girl shtick and whatnot,” the boy had gone into another mode entirely in nearly an instant, “and yes, the eloquent person suddenly getting tripped up for words is usually played for its cuteness factor, despite how you’d joke about it. It’s a common trope.”

 

Adria stopped, looking almost incredulous, and then burst out laughing. “M-moe factor...?!” she snorted. She kept giggling, before trying to apologize and stifle her laughs. “Ahaha, sorry I just didn’t expect--- ...ehe ehehehe, ‘ _ played for its cuteness factor _ !’”

She wiped a tear from under her sunglasses. “Well, that’s one way to say it,” she said, placing a hand out to her side, “though I wouldn’t say I’m tripping up my words quite yet.” 

 

“Me! I meant--arghhh! Know what? Let’s just go find your stupid cane, alright?” he took her hand and started leading her through the hallway toward the lobby.

 

“Uhm,” Adria recoiled her hand. “No, no, can you… not do that? I’d rather not be dragged around.” She took a moment to word an explanation. “....Hold out your arm for me, and bend your elbow slightly. Then walk whatever speed you like; I’ll follow and match your pace.”

 

“Oh,” he simply said. Tlaloc took a deep breath to control his constantly fluxing emotion and tried to follow her instruction as best he could. “Like... this?” He did as she said and started moving at a stable pace.

 

She swiftly skimmed her hand over and grabbed his upper arm, “Yup,” she said with a pleased grin. “If you’re at the Tower as much as you say you are, I trust you know where to go.” Her grin turned snarky, “Just don’t ram me into a bunch of people, or I’ll do the same back.”

 

“Frankly, no, I don’t think you’ve told me where to go.” 

 

Adria gave a startled look. “S- shit, I didn’t?”  _ Nice going _ , she cringed. She’d kind of assumed he heard her talking to herself, but… not everyone eavesdropped as much as her? 

“Ah ha ha, whoops!” She stuttered. “Anyways, if someone grabbed my cane, chances are that it’s in the Lost and Found on the 2nd floor… so that’s where we’re going…?”

 

“Capiche captain blind, follow me; all aboard the idiot train! Let the kind-of-a-conga-line begin.” And with that, Tlaloc began to push and shout his way through the groups and lines of inklings all waiting to do battle.

After a good five minutes of shoving people out of the way literally or verbally, the pair made their way to the elevator. Tlaloc jammed the ‘up’ button over and over, perfectly aware that that wouldn’t make it go any faster, but after what felt like an eternity (to him) the door opened and the two stepped in.

 

Recognizing the elevator space, Adria let go of Tlaloc to lean back against the railing. She only grinned widely, as the elevator took them up. “‘ _ All aboard the idiot train?’  _ Do you say that to all the blind girls you lead around?”

 

“Yes,” he said, seriously. “Yes, I do. Because you happen to be the only one. In case that wasn’t obvious. Damn, you are so sweaty. Ughhh. I hate touching people.” He looked seriously revolted as he pulled out a handkerchief. From another pocket, he pulled out a bottle of spray-on sanitizer, and he applied some to the cloth.

As he rubbed his arm he mumbled, quietly, but loud enough to hear over the elevator music, “sorry, I’m mysophobic. Mildly. I can control it. Most of the time.”

 

“Oh,” Adria tilted her head head away. “I had a hunch about that. I would have guessed touch sensitive, though.” She shot a vexed an expression to the wall. “I know where to go, but I don’t think the spectator floor is that much emptier… all the Jelly tourists.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he said, satisfied that he’d killed enough germs. “C’mon, let’s go,” he put his arm out in the same way he did before as the door of the elevator opened up for the two of them.

 

Grabbing his arm but trying to keep her touch lighter, she remarked, as they left the elevator, “While you’re looking at any of the wall monitors as we pass by, see if you can find an inkling named Zale in one of the Ranked lobbies.” She spoke though a forced grin. “Maybe I can avoid him, in case I just trashed my cane.”

 

“Who’s Zale and why are you trying to avoid him?” As he tried to maneuver his way around excited Jellies, Tlaloc couldn’t help but worry about all the arms brushing up against him. For the love of all things deep, where in the name of the Kraken-lord himself was the Lost and Found?

 

“Zale’s like… a friend, sort of.” Adria thought, then quickly corrected herself, “Yes, he is a friend, he’s just kind of  _ insufferable _ . I’ve known him for a really long time, but in any case, he was the one who custom bought that cane.”

Adria gave a quizzical frown, “Do you know which way you’re going? I feel like we walked farther than we should have.”

 

“I don’t have a single clue where we’re going--in fact, I’ve never even been up here. But let me tell you,” he looked out the window, towering over the jellies, “the view is so not worth it. You’re better off blind.”

He looked around again, trying to find someone, anyone that looked like staff. “As things are going, I mostly just want to find someone who knows where to take us. If I don’t know the place, we could be wandering for nearly half an hour. Don’t laugh. I’m good with maps. I’m unlucky with directions--ack don’t hold so tight!”

 

Adria went quiet for a moment. That remark about the view was obviously a joke. But it rubbed her the wrong way.

She stopped dead in her tracks, keeping her grip on his arm firm, listening to his where his voice came from as he yelped at the sudden stop. Not facing him, she pointed a finger right above his mouth, where his eyes should be.

“You don’t realize how reliant on your eyes you are.” She snapped her head up to glare. “We don’t need a staff member. Take me to one of the main monitors; I already have the layout of this place memorized.” 

 

Tlaloc had struck a nerve. It took him a bit to notice it, but he had it happen to him enough times to know that he had. Besides, when someone puts a finger on your nose and says something dramatic, it’s probably important.

He cared, but he didn’t care at the same time. It was complicated. He batted away her finger and said, “fine fine, I’ll get you there, then you can lead.” The closer he got to the monitors, the less crowded it became. Tlaloc couldn’t help but be relieved about that.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to say he was sorry. The rest of his mind retorted  _ what for? Seriously, like what the fuck? What is she even mad about? Psssshhh women. _

 

Adria fumed silently as they walked to the main monitor. Part of her knew this was immature, the other part of her was…. mad. Mad at having her vision loss taken so lightly. She would have given anything to see that crummy view out the Tower.

She quietly exhaled and stopped herself. She knew she couldn’t think like that.

Coming towards the monitor, Adria slid her hand against the lower display, finding the corners and her own location. Where she found adversity, she found a new way to do things. Like finding her way better than Glasses.

“Alright, from here, we keep heading to the left until I say so. This place is pretty circular in layout, but this’ll be an alcove in the main path. Got it?”

 

Tlaloc just followed her directions and, following the curve to the left and moving through the thinning crowd, “got it.”

As they moved, he didn’t like the relative silence, so he decided to crack it a little. “So like, what do you like to do besides Turf Wars, I guess?

 

“Uuuh, I like...listening to music...  and reading…?”  _ Alright _ , a distraction. She could roll with that. “...Singing, audio editing and mixing, I suppose anything audio related in general.” She murmured,“...also  _ eavesdropping.” _ It was pretty much a hobby at this point, if she was honest with herself.

“Oh?” Tlaloc grinned and he was pretty sure he showed it in his voice, “catch any juicy gossip from the sweltering masses? I mean you’re hearing is obnoxiously good so you probably get to listen in on some really  _ fun _ conversations.”

He thought about it a bit and then decided, “actually, better question, what kind of conversations do you like to listen in on? There’s a lot of rubbish out there--I should know; most conversation is basically manure made of trashy concepts and misused syntax--so how do you find what’s interesting?”

 

She gave a small laugh, surprised this is what he latched onto, but was eager to answer. “I don’t know? I listen in on all sorts of things but I guess hearing things related to my friends are always interesting. I somehow end up being the first to pick apart friend dra--.” She stopped, a realization clicking. Adria immediately answered, “People talking about their love lives.” 

She blinked and continued,“or just people trying to be romantic, or talking about romantic troubles... private conversations I probably shouldn’t listen in on.”

 

“Pfff yeah, romantic secrets are interesting, not to mention great material. Still, I can understand the ingrained desire to know what you’re not supposed to know.” He adjusted his glasses with his free arm, “something about curiosity killing Judd or something.”

He realized that he had stopped walking, but didn’t really care. “Oh krak, I was being self-oriented again, fuckin stupid biased perspective. Ugh!! I hate that about myself. No no, um, so, what do you eavesdrop or listen in or wallflower or however you wanna say it, it doesn’t matter, why do you do what you do, yeah?” His sentence and ideas started to blur together near the end, but it was clear he was trying, at the very least, to consider her.

 

“Well, half of it is just being aware of my surroundings,” she smiled innocently. Or at least there was point when it had been. “You’d be surprised what you can hear from people, just walking around. I like knowing what’s going on before other people, for once.”

“ _ Also _ , we aren’t there yet. Keep walking,” She grinned smugly. “Honestly, I don’t mind hearing what you think. In fact, what do you do aside from Turf Wars?”

 

“Me? The usual. Dance class, writing, school; cultural bullshit and dumb activist stuff.  _ That _ I enjoy.” He kept moving through the group, though more slowly, now. “I used to not like the lobbying and the rallies, but it gets more interesting the older you get. You meet some really interesting people. And a lot of people you just want to punch in the face for hiding his thoughts so far behind a mask, you feel like you have to take their face off to see if there was anything there at all.”

 

“That last part was… oddly specific sounding, and yet extremely vague.” she stated. She gave a dry laugh. “Huh, you really don’t sound the type attend ‘cultural bullshit’ and activist rallies, but I guess I wouldn’t know.” 

She thought on that,“Actually, I’m guessing this is a friend or family thing?”

 

“I mean, I don’t wanna shit on the whole lot, but yeah, it’s not really my thing. It’s my mom’s, and yeah, sure, I didn’t like it at first, but you kind of hate everything that doesn’t involve whatever your twisted version of fun is as a little baby-tentacled-freak,” Tlaloc hadn’t realized how slow he was going considering how small the tower’s second floor was and it wasn’t that the jellies were in the way.

_ Oh, _ he thought, finally,  _ I’m enjoying this conversation. _

“So yeah,” he continued, “as I got older, I really started to actually understand stuff like minority rights--particularly the octolings--child labor conditions overseas, inkling trafficking, stuff like that. But really, I’d just prefer to be dancing my little twinkle-toes off or shouting some line out at the top of my lungs. More the latter than the former.”

 

“Hmm,” she mused. “That sounds interesting,” then grinned widely, “So that’s what you meant by dance! I was trying to piece that together. Ballet, right? Divertissements are classical pieces.”

 

“Yeah, kinda, except in ballet, it’s basically a dance that’s used to fill up time and show of the skill of the dancer--it sounds silly, but that’s what makes up most of a production; various divertissements.”

 

Adria just kind of mulled over the these new idea, intrigued. “Man, do I get out enough? If it isn’t weaponry or audio, I never hear about any of this.” She scoffed,”...it’s because everyone I hang out with is obsessed with ink battles.” 

“Which is fine,” she laughed “If I want to be any good, I have to play with people who can ink with their tentacles tied behind their backs.”

 

“Yeah…” Tlaloc sort of trailed off, “yeah, it’s important to play with those better than you to get better. That’s for certain.” Yeah, that was not where he wanted things to go with the conversation. It was fun to play and forget about things and get better. But outside it?

Mm.

“Ah, is this it?” he noted, spying the alcove just a little bit away. It had Lost and Found plastered all over the top, so he knew it was just rhetorical, but still, he felt it needed to be said.

 

“Yeah, we should be be here. I’ve been told there’s a sign above us,” she gibed. She let go and skipped up to the counter. The lost and found receptionist straightened up from boredly leaning over the counter, noticing Adria on sight. 

“Oh hey, welcome, did you lose a shirt or something this time?” They joked.

“Ahaha, no I’m here  _ for the usual _ .” she replied, meekly. “Is my cane here by any chance?”

The receptionist blinked. “I don’t… I don’t think it came through here. I can check again if you want, but I don’t think it’s here.” 

Adria nervously tugged at the edge of her shirt. “Y-yes, if you could, please.”

 

“What, is this normal or something?” Tlaloc asked. “You lose your cane all the time? What does it do, fall out of your locker? Or is someone  _ taking _ it like an  _ asshole _ ?” Somewhere behind the snark was a defensive tone--like he was going to beat someone up for taking her cane.

“No, no. It’s custom-made so that it’s like a weapon! Ink-proof,” she explained. “I can just leave it in the lobby room, ...and it goes back to my locker!” 

She was trying to smile, but a nagging, bad feeling about this wouldn’t go away. She apprehensively tugged on the ends of her sleeves. “During the time between matches, sometimes people mistakenly find my cane lying around, grab it and bring it up here… If it isn’t here, someone probably doesn’t know where this place is… and they’re trying to find me…” 

 

“Do you have any other was to find it if it’s not here? Like, a tracker or something? A lot of weapons here have that and I know at the very least, if I’d make a custom-made ink-proof cane, I’d find some way to autosplat it to get it back in my locker or, at least, some way to locate it through GPS.” Oh shit she was lecturing her. What would another direction for this be?

“Uh, anyway, um, I hope it’s here.”

 

The receptionist ducked out the window, “Nope, it’s definitely not here, and I would have remembered seeing it earlier.”

Adria blinked, taken aback, then started laughing nervously to herself.  

The receptionist shot Adria a quizzical look but cooly responded. “If I see it, I’ll be sure to keep it safe for you or hand it to that other guy you’re usually with. He’s like.. your brother or something?”

“Raaaughgh, he’s not my brother!! He’s got  _ plenty  _ of other siblings!” Adria heatedly shot back, momentarily snapping out of her worry. Not for long though.

Her fingers clamped down on the edges of her sleeves. “Ohhh, this might actually be bad.”

 

“Er,” Tlaloc thought for a moment. Took a deep breath and held back all snark and curses and amusing gibes. “So, where did you last leave it? That’s the first step, right? I’ve got nothing more important to do today, so I wouldn’t mind, um, leading you around for some time.”

Then, as a sort of aside, he muttered, “I was kind of rude to you after all. Fuckin’ adrenaline.”

 

“Nonono, it’s fine, I just..,ugh, that won’t help. We started in the last place I left it...” She covered her face with her sleeves and kept rambling through the cloth.

“If someone grabbed it in that window of time, they would have beat us here, unless they’re down in the lobby still, but they probably assumed we went into the plaza, and wow, a tracker might have  _ really  _ been useful, but that’s.. that’s overkill for a cane, right???”

She peeked up from her sleeves with a gasp. “Judd!”

“Judd would have seen someone! Or atleast this gives me time to go call someone,” she said, with a hint of dismay.

 

“That fat cat?” Tlaloc exclaimed. “Pfhahaha that’s crazy, he’s just a judge and he also seems to have a photographic memory and the ability to tell apart one tiny detail from another and oh my god, you’re right. Shit.”

He pulled out his wiping cloth and sanitized his arm before holding it out again for Adria and said, “come on, let’s get going. Preferably while the sun’s still out.”

 

She grabbed his arm, but before then, plugged her earbuds into her wrist monitor and tapping away at it as they started walking, not paying attention to how well she was walking. “Man, I hope someone else is here, but not like… Nessie or Lach --they make such a big deal out of these things” she thought outloud.

 

“Nessie? Lach? Those your friends?” Tlaloc began, conversation, conversation, keep her mind off things, that was what you were supposed to do when you couldn’t help anything right? Man, what had his therapist said? “What are they like?”

 

“Uh yeah, a couple of them. Siblings. Nessie’s really ...upbeat and likes using really awful, long range weapons… and Lachlan? He’s Lach… Loc…Lach...” Adria paused and sneered. “Jeez, you both go by the same name. That’s awkward.”

 

“Tough, I can’t help how I was named. Always struck me as pretentious--do I fit the bill enough? Tlaloc, god of rain and harvests! Bow before my mighty watery powers. Grawr.” He clawed her arm a bit to try to simulate nonverbal communication, but it mostly came out as awkward and he made a mental note to sanitize his fingers. 

“Or some shit like that I don’t know what was running through my parents’ heads when they named me.”

 

Adria blinked, hearing his actual name. “Huh.  _ Tlaloc.”  _ She was somewhat grinning at the meaning.  _ Rain god.  _ Now, he should be the one using a Dynamo.

She suddenly tugged them both to a stop, putting one hand over her ear and tinkering with the other on her wrist screen. “Noo no no, that can’t be right.” 

She stopped to listen to her entire friend list automate again, listening for who was online. Anyone in Inkopolis would show up, but that really meant they could be anywhere, whether they were in a battle lobby or nearby.

Zale’s name --Z for Zale-- was the last to read, instead of online and top of the list.

She quickly spat out, “We need to go somewhere quiet. Like, right now!”

 

“Yes. The fuck. Please.” And with that, they made their way down the elevator and back to the locker rooms. Not perfect, but quiet enough. “So I’m all for peace and quiet--it ranks up there with classical music and jazz--but why are we here?” 

“What the hell is he doing?” She hissed, mostly ignoring the question and dialing a number on her shellphone. With her hand guiding her along the walls, Adria started to pacing haphazardly, waiting for the other end to picked up.

As soon as it did, she practically snarled, “Why aren’t you at the Tower? Did I miss something?”

Someone on the other end seemed to be responding. 

“Oh, well that explains it,” she went quiet. “It isn’t everyday you get to see your sister.” Adria kept talking. “I-- no, sorry, I didn’t tell anyone I was at the Tower today. Just wanted to upgrade gear and stuff--”

“Pfft, no. I...” she hesitated, “...don’t need anything. Ha ha, you weren’t here today so I was just seeing if I should start writing a eulogy,” she joked. “Don’t worry! I know that this  _ actually means a lot to you _ .”

She suddenly gave a sharp laugh, “Shut up! Tell Calista ‘hi’ and stop talking to me already!” 

As she hung up, her grin ebbed away and her shoulders dropped.

 

“Valiant. Now what are you going to do, Blind McGee?” Tlaloc quipped. He’d shut up for the conversation, but now that that was over, he was perfectly okay with a little pressuring question. “Besides, what were they going to do for you anyway? Weren’t we going to go talk to the fat cat?”

He didn’t seem to sound impatient, but he was impatient by nature. This seemed extraneous, why did she need to contact her friends in-between?

 

Adria struggled with the right words. “No…! I don’t need them to do anything for me. I...” At a loss for words, she groaned and dragged a hand up her face, pulling her sunglasses to the top of her head.

Clutching her phone tighter, she exhaled. Why had she called him? Aside from the shock factor of Zale being gone, Loc was right.  

“...I’m sorry. I’m wasting your time.” She gritted down her teeth. “I need to get a grip.”

 

“Look, you’re not wasting my time,” he said firmly, “I wasn’t doing anything today anyway and you’re the most interesting thing to happen this month--sorry my months aren’t that interesting though, so the bar is kind of low.”

He let himself sit down on the floor, they’d been standing for quite a while now and now seemed as good a time as any to rest. “My therapist says that whenever I’m stressed, it’s good to just sit down and think happy thoughts. I know now doesn’t seem like the time, but I dunno. Think happy thoughts.”

This was not in Tlaloc’s area of expertise. Actually, in giving the advice, he was breaking it--he couldn’t help but feel that he was giving the wrong advice, which was making  _ him _ more frustrated in the process. Good thing Adria couldn’t see him clenching his teeth in frustration or furrowing his brow further than before. “Gods below, I...I’m not good at the comforting thing. Think of rainbows or something, I don’t know!”

 

Adria found a locker bench to sit on, somewhat surprised to hear that she was ‘ _ the most interesting thing to happen this month’.  _ A small smile crept onto her face. She lowered her head to hide that expression if she could. 

“No, no, you’re right.” She blinked a few times and let herself think. She hesitated, but let herself speaking, “I… I know this sounds weird, but.. It’s kind of comforting.” She paused, “I’d… rather be stuck here than let Zale waste a day with one of his siblings.”

She quickly added, “Not that I plan to be stuck here! Haha, but…!”

She turned away. “...I’m glad it’s Calista. I remember her… I used to think she was so pretty when I was younger.”

 

“Shit, you weren’t born blind?” It just sort of slipped out of his mouth, but he regretted it immediately after he said it. “I mean, uh, who’s Calista?”

 

Adria tipped her head, grinning viciously to Tlaloc. “Hehehe, most people find it interesting that I knew Zale before I went blind.” 

Her expression softened. “Calista’s  _ one _ ,” --she emphasized the ‘one’--  “of Zale’s older siblings. The closest to his age so, I remember seeing her once or twice.” She put her hand to her chin thoughtfully. “I’m sure things have changed a lot though, like her hair length for one.”

 

Yeah, that was not a topic to touch. No touchy. She touchy. Reasonably so, though. “So, what’s she like, besides a looker I guess? Zale seems to be a jerk, so is his sis the same?” He checked his filter; should he say was he was thinking?

Who was he kidding of course he’d say what he was thinking. After a short pause he said, “did she go somewhere? Is she visiting or something? You seemed to make it out to be that this was some sort of ‘wow, this is a once in a lifetime thing, better not ruin it hur hurr’ event.”

 

“Calista? She’s… like…” Adria was giddy at trying to explain Calista. “She’s like  _ a princess _ , really graceful and kind. She doesn’t seem like the rest of her siblings but yes, she’s also kind of an asshole, but not in the obvious sense.” 

Adria stuck out her tongue. “People tell her not to do things and she does them anyway. Her family wanted Zale and her to not be so focused on ink battles so now she works for SquidForce.”

She gave a small laugh. “It’s not so much that she’s gone, it’s just, she’s off living her own life, like the rest of his siblings. I mean, Calista’s like… 8 years apart from Zale, I think.”

 

“Man, and you said she was the closest to him in age? He must be the smallest guppy in the bunch,” Tlaloc scratched the back of his head, just trying to wrap his head around having siblings, let alone a million older siblings. Probably hell to get into the shower.

“What would possess someone to have so many children?” He knew he wasn’t supposed to say those things, but it just slipped out, like always. And this time, he really didn’t care. What would possess someone to have so many children besides raging hormones and maybe some viagra. 

“Like, I liked being an only child so I don’t really get the whole ‘sharing with other siblings’ thing and as for my parental unit, I know I was  _ more _ than enough. But a family of asshole children and one asshole junior, I just… why?!”

 

Adria snorted a laugh. “To be fair, Zale was practically an only child, and Mirania… Miranias not an asshole, she’s just weird. But yes, I completely understand,” she giggled. “Being an only child. Also being more than enough kid despite the 2 to 1 parent ratio.”

 

Tlaloc grinned wholeheartedly, not even masking it anymore because what did it matter, she wouldn’t notice. “Yeah. Gods below, I was a handful for my mom. My dad could handle whatever I dished out no problem, but he was always busy being a star--funny how that is that the calmer one took the more energetic line of work.” He trailed off there a moment, thinking about his dad and figured that if he kept going in that direction he would gush. He didn’t want to gush. So…

Redirect! “Mom is more like me. Or maybe I’m more like her? We’re explosive. I think you know what that means by now.”

 

“Yes,” she laughed. “Yes, I do know,” she grinned. It was infectious; she could hear the smile in his voice.

After laughing some more, she replied. “Thank you… I’m good now.” She exhaled to compose herself, but the smile remained on her face. “I think we should keep trying to find my cane, but if not, I think I’ve got other ideas.”

She stood up, but as she did, her sunglasses fell off her head and tumbled to the floor.

 

Tlaloc was already reaching down to the ground when he said, “hey uh, you dropped,” and he picked up the glasses when he looked up at her. He hadn’t realized that he’d been unconsciously looking away from her face… no, her eyes. “Your… uh…”

He liked to believe that he could ignore people’s outer flaws to recognize their even worse internal ones; to believe that he could ignore such oddities as disabilities and impairments and treat everyone horribly the same way. And yet, it was only now that he’d known that he had been avoiding her eyes.

It helped that she never seemed to look directly at him, but now that he was looking he couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes were a milky orange, same as her hair, but the irises seemed to bleed into the pupils giving an alien look to her eyes. It wasn’t unsightly. It wasn’t gross. But it certainly was different.

“Your, um,” he repeated, “your glasses.” He held them up a bit, still somewhat transfixed at meeting gazes.

 

“Shit,” she laughed, “my glasses!” She didn’t follow their clack, already hearing Tlaloc reach and over pick them off the ground. She held a hand out hoping for them to be placed back in her grasp. When she couldn’t feel her specs and he started repeating his words, Adria only smiled and waited.

“Hmm not bad,” she teased, “but I’ve heard more amusing reactions.”

 

He blushed. There wasn’t anything to say about the situation, but that he unabashedly blushed. 

Trying to regain some composure, he slapped the glasses into her hands and said, “I wasn’t! I mean! Um! Yes. Shit. Wait, that wasn’t amusing? Tell me I am not amusing to my face!” Well that could have gone better.

“I mean, um. I. This is where words... leeeet’s go find Judd.”

“Yes, let’s make like a Dynamo... and roll.” And with that, Adria flipped her shades into place and smirked.  

“Or make like… any other roller I guess, and probably not a Dynamo since you want to flick most of the time when using it to make the most of-- okay, go find Judd. Let’s do that.” She held her arm out and let Tlaloc lead the way.

 

Finding Judd isn’t always that easy. Most of the time you can find him in the square lounging about, or waddling off to go and deliver the results of a turf war. But since there were so many little leaguers running around the field, he usually had his paws full.

Still, waiting at his pillow was better than no plan at all and so Tlaloc began leading the two of them out to the square. It was always a push and shove thing getting out of the Tower and shivers ran down Tlaloc’s spine as he rubbed elbows with the overexcited kids who were much less worried about germs and bacteria.

When the two of them made it out of the tower, the boy finally felt like he could breathe again. That is to say, that he could breathe in the smell of smog and lingering cigarette smoke from somewhere. Boy, isn’t the city wonderful?

When they took the few steps required to get to Judd’s pillow, they quickly found out that the iconic feline was elsewhere. So Tlaloc told Adria the situation, pulled out his sanitizer and started to clean his arms. And face. And legs. “Guh, why do people have to perspire? Fix the damn leaks, everyone!”

 

Adria pursed her lips. “I don’t really know what to tell you about that, ‘except that maybe you should have changed shirts while we were in the locker room.”

She leaned back against the wall and let Tlaloc do his thing. While she was waiting, she might as well explain their next course of action. 

“Alright, like I said, I think I’ve got some ideas. I’m sure Judd would have seen something… and he’ll definitely be out here at rotation switch,” --everyone would be kicked out of the tower so there would be no matches to facilitate-- “but worse case scenario is that I can’t find my cane today. Or like.. ever. If that’s what happens I just need to get home, where I have a spare. Zale can pick up my cane at a later time.”

 

“That’s all fine and good but wasn’t like, one of the first things we covered when we talked, like, ever, the fact that you live a long ways away from here?” Tlaloc pointedly pointed out, “look, like, all I’m saying is, do you have a plan to get home?”

 

“Mmhm! Of course I do! I mean, I wouldn’t say it’s that far away by train, but…” she shook her head and redirected the topic.” It’s just a matter of finding my friends. I’ve only got a couple friends who know how to get where I live and….one is Zale, so splat that.” She started listing things off on her fingers. 

“One is here right now, and they’re probably my best bet, but they’re probably busy. Another lives extremely close by and wouldn’t mind me calling, and the last lives reeeeaally far away so I wouldn’t count on them making it, unless they’re just around Inkopolis and eluding the friend list “online”-ness.”

She wiggled her fingers. “Yeah, that’s all my options, four different people.”

 

“Well, good that you have that in order,” Tlaloc sighed in relief. “There are a million things that annoy me in the world, but one of them that really irks me is the fact that people don’t seem to think these things through. Or really anything through? Like really, anything.”

He clenched his jaw harder as he groaned just thinking about it. “People are dumb. And sweaty. But mostly dumb. Why do they have a brain if they don’t use it to, I don’t know,  _ think _ ! I swear and I swear a lot--pun  _ totally  _ intended--that most of these idiots couldn’t find their head if it wasn’t attached to their shoulders.”

He knew that ranting was not the best way to make conversation, but she hadn’t stopped him, so he figured he’d keep going. “Just between me and you and anyone else you tell because I would tell this to anyone, there are a lot of people here who think they can actually think through their Turf Wars. Talk strategy and such. But when they actually get out there, they don’t put any thought into anything! All instinct. Ugh… people are dumb. They’d be twice as good if they put more planning into their action, why can’t they just see that?”

 

She hmm’d at that. “Well, what makes ink battles fun is that you can’t know what will happen on the field until the match starts. Plans just fall apart.” 

She blinked for a moment, then gave a snarky grin. “Also, I think you’ve been playing with the wrong people if you think everyone plays like that.” She shifted her feet a bit. “But I don’t think people are all dumb. People are interesting. Sometimes they’re dumb at some things, but really good at others.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Tlaloc admitted, “but still, those people are few and far between. Maybe like five percent? And I don’t wanna randomly assail people for their IDs. All the time anyway.”

He didn’t have much else to say, so for a while, he just sat down and ran through steps to practice. But quickly, he realized that there was at least an hour before the rotation, so he kicked off his shoes and started to walk through the steps slowly in the middle of the square. It was battle hour, so very few were there, so it didn’t matter what little nimble-toes him looked like at the moment. He could bat away a few onlookers.

 

As she heard Tlaloc stand up and start stepping around, she figured they’d been walking and talking all day. A moment of peace couldn’t hurt. 

Adria slid back against the wall, tinkering with her wrist monitor for the current time. Jeez, rotation was pretty far. She shrugged; stages in Ranked didn’t look that great anyway. Splat Zones and Arowana mall at the same time. Not that squidding away right now would be a good idea, anyway.

Speaking of which, where was Tlaloc? She listened: something like his shoes being thrown aside and more rhythmic steps meshed with the quiet bubbling of the Plaza. 

 

After about ten minutes of the ballet dancer being lost in his own world, Tlaloc looked back to Adria who seemed to be people watching. People listening? Who could tell when she zoned out like that. There was still a while to kill and as much as it plagued him, he wasn’t totally callous to inkling interaction. So he prodded with a, “so… what do you hear? Anything particularly good and worth spreading from ear to ear?”

 

Adria tilted her head up. “Hmm? No, the Plaza’s awfully calm right now.” She relaxed again. “I appreciate the quiet though.”

A grin surfaced on her face. “Well, then there’s youu,” she purred. “I’m pretty sure you just threw your shoes off, and you're waltzing around the Plaza barefoot.”

 

“Well, I’ve gotta get in practice at some point!” Tlaloc retorted. “I’ve got a big dance coming up and I’d rather be prepared than not and practice makes perfect. I don’t have the natural talent, so the natural response is to practice a million times harder and pick up the slack that mother nature so gleefully skimped out on.”

As if to prove his point, he began to do a few twirls, a graceful leap and a skillful cuss about the pavement and lack of shoes.

 

She started snickering at the expletives. “Ehehe, so you are dancing! I was just guessing, but looks like I was right.” 

She leaned her chin into her hand, somewhat muffling her voice. “Mm, if it counts for anything, you seem to be doing fine to me.” She smirked at her own comment, content with sitting and feeling the sun on her hair. ...Truthfully, she was a little bored. Might even pull out an audio book later.

 

Seeing how she was just watching him with her ears, he figured that more conversation couldn’t hurt. So, he took a difficult position, pushing himself to hold it, as he said, “so, now you know about all my nervous ticks and what I do to pass the time when I’m not being a total scrublord on the turf. What do you do besides listen to people’s private conversations? Do you like card games or something? Can you even play card games?”

 

“Well, considering the one time I’ve actually held a deck of cards, I can’t really tell the difference between them. Or.. read them.” She sat up and thought about that. “I mean, I guess I could find a deck in braille online.” 

“But yes, reading with braille is a thing. I do that a lot when I’m not listening to audiobooks or music.”

 

“Oh? What kind of books are we talking about? You got a genre of choice? Or just whatever?”  _ Please say shitty romance novels. _

 

Adria took a moment to think, not quite sure what to answer.“I guess _ whatever _ sounds right.” 

She leaned her cheek into her hand. “Drama... suspense, maybe mystery? I also like fantasies...”  She gave a lazy smile. “Jeez, that’s so difficult. What about you?” 

 

“Shitty. Romance. Novels.” Tlaloc purred, “Just love love and when it’s written, it’s like getting a different persons ideas of what it means and how fucked up and nonsensical an emotion it is.”

She paused for a moment, to let the words sink in, before breaking into laughter and grabbing her sides. “Aha, ahaha, that’s incredible!” She giggled, “that actually... that actually sounds super interesting! You’ll have to suggest some to me, I’ll see if I can find some in audio.” 

Still grinning, she murmured to herself, “‘how fucked up and nonsensical’ love is, huh?”

 

“Why stop at one? Want me to suggest like, seven? How about ‘Time Immemorial?’ Heard of it? It was super popular a few years ago. Covers these two people who have been interested in each other for ages, but then a version of the girl comes from the future and hits on the boy and it sounds dumb, but it totally gets heated when it turns out that their relationship changes the future!” 

Tlaloc hardly stopped to take a breath before he started with another. “Or how about ‘The Curious Encounter?’ Totally cheesy romance detective novel, but when it all comes together, it’s actually a lot better than the rest of the novel shows. So odd when you run into one that’s absolute cuttlecrap from the beginning but somehow manages to salvage itself at the end. Also, the villain and the protagonist falling in love is totally fucking novel--shit, um, spoilers.”

 

“Those all sound pretty hilarious,” she said as she covered a grin. “Definitely not what I usually read. One of my roommates suggests stuff to me but…” She thought for a second. “I guess I end up reading more serious novels?” 

“There's this really complex historical warp-around sitting on my player --where the Great turf war eras were fought with biological weapons on both sides-- and… the last couple of books I’ve read were all… fantasy. Charming rougue-ish mercenaries, caught up in an imperial-web-of-lies, sort of thing.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “The romance in that is adequately cheesy though.”

 

“Wait, what was that last one? Maybe I’ve read it. Was it that long really popular novel series? Fuck what was it called…” Tlaloc started clenching his teeth so hard it was almost as if he was trying to make them shatter. Clearly thoughts not coming to him was an absurd notion.

 

“The House of Arganon” she promptly answered. 

“I think the author’s done a longer series outside of this and some other novels, but yeah.” She beamed, her cheeks in her hands, “I’m a sucker for the intrigue and historical setting. That and the General is simply. The most badass. Ever.”

 

“Meh, he was okay, but really, I think the best one was that one assassin. Like, he wasn’t written all angsty like most assassins, but just a guy trying to get through the world, you know? Also, his falling in love with the strong female lead made for an interesting love triangle, I mean seriously, I’ve seen some love triangles in my day, but the assassin--was it Azoth? I forget--and the dancer falling in love with protag was just grade-a starfish-award gold-winning nominee-deserving precious!”

 

Adria found herself giggling again. Mostly at his over-the-top phrasing--- _ yes, precious is how she would describe other things, too. _ She found had herself repeating how Loc described things in her head, because they were pretty great, but also to make the words stick a little bit longer.

“Oh, but love triangles get so tedious! It’s starts boiling down to miscommunication as plot devices” She turned away and muttered, “I mean, there  _ are _ ways to make 3 people work,” before speaking louder again. 

“But,” she replied, slyly. “I figured you’d like the dancer’s arc.”

 

“Yeah yeah, dancing liking character because bias blah blah blah,” he made a dumb hand motion that he realized was a lost effort. “But anyway, that’s the thing! All of these things are tropes and it’s about how they’re used. You said the general was badass, right? Well, Azoth was sent to kill him, but he stopped? ‘Why did he do that???’ you might think to yourself…”

Tlaloc assumed his smug demeanor. “Well, you might remember that he had a change of heart because of the protag’s personal values. And if it weren’t for the dancer’s arc, he never would have met her. Bam, love triangle serves plot purpose. It’s all woven quite intricately.”

 

Adria hmm’d reluctantly, “True, true.” 

“I mean all aside, just thought the dancer would resonate with you, seeing how you’re dancing around right now.” She grinned. “I can hear you; you’re not exactly being discreet.”

 

Tlaloc was surprised at how acute she was, but… “you’re not wrong, but you’re not right. I’m not exactly dancing as much as I am switching between forms. I’m just trying to hold one stance, then another stance. It’s practice in building stamina and getting your body to memorize the forms in your muscles.”

 

She blinked, absorbing the new information. “I see. Muscle memory.” She went silent in thought before finally saying, “Ballet sounds difficult.”

 

“Not as hard as anything else in life, really,” Tlaloc noted, shifting from one form to the other. “All it takes is determination and the desire to seek out more information. Both of those are really fucking important. I’d expect you know that considering your Turf War prowess

. Heck, with that determination, I bet you could learn to dance.”

 

She laughed. “Yes, you’re right. Except I didn’t exactly learn how to ink battle like that without help.” In fact, she still couldn’t keep up with new weapon additions without help. Deniz and their weapon obsession was her constant source of battle know-how. 

 

Tlaloc shrugged, “help helps, not gonna lie. But individual drive can really push someone forward, you know? A goal and other motivational junk like that. It’s not a lie… it’s real shit.”

 

“Oh, I know.” she smirked. “I need someone with eyes for tips in ink battles, but there's a reason I spend most of my time in accelerated classes.” She held her smirk. “But what makes you say that?”

“You mean the motivational thing? I dunno. I’ve just…” for a bit, Tlaloc’s nonstop jabbermouth stopped and he thought before he answered. “I just have seen enough people push themselves past their limits and come out better people because of it. Doing things that people shouldn’t be able to do. And it’s infuriating because it makes me jealous and pushes me to try harder.”

He snorted, seemingly done before muttering, “I’ve gotta try harder, I’ve gotta get better…”

 

She was struck by the genuineness, and then… the rawness of the thoughts that came spilling out. She opened her mouth, a question at the tip of her tongue she had wanted to ask for sometime, but decided otherwise. 

Instead, she stood up.“ I guess it’s a little easier for me to say this, but… don’t compare yourself to other people,” she closed her eyes behind her glasses and took a calm breath. “You’ll miss your own strides and achievements. It’s not about how far you get, it’s how far you’ve gone.”

 

For the first time in a while Tlaloc seemed legitimately angry, the snap was sudden and explosive. “God, I’m tired of that line! People are the only things we can compare ourselves to! And… and I  _ need _ to get better. I have to be the best.” Only then did he notice that he’d lost his careful form… and that he was yelling.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m working on that. I’m easily set off. I’d been doing so well today...” He started to dance again, instead of crying or blowing up again. It was a lot easier to focus his emotion into an action. So much easier.

Adria stood where she was, unflinching, but stunned. “It’s fine,” she replied almost instinctively. 

But she felt stiff, the breath seeming to stall in her lungs. No, she hadn’t expected him to erupt like that, but yes, the apology was genuine. Genuinely angry. But also genuinely upset.

Whether it was composure, or paralysis or a mix of both, she didn’t try to speak up immediately. There wasn’t a lot she could think to say --or there was everything she could think to say to make it worse. 

What to say. She felt a touch of guilt. Had it been necessary of her to start preaching life lessons? She still couldn’t agree with Tlaloc. But she still heard everything else he had said. And she had meant what she meant.

“Tlaloc,” she hesitantly began. “You aren’t wrong. To keep wanting to improve and to keep trying harder. ...That’s admirable.”     

She paused. Was it worth the grief to tack this on? She hoped she knew what to say. 

“But, I can’t agree with you.” She tensed up, but continued.“I just can’t think that way. There's a lot of people it isn’t fair to compare myself with --no one with my limits and plenty who can do what I can, but with less effort. For me… it’s unnecessary,” she said in a quieter voice, “...it’s crushing.”

 

“...yeah.” It didn’t seem like a time to do anything anymore. Just sit and think of something to say futilely. Whenever he got angry things seemed to end like this. It didn’t matter what he said after that… he just wanted to make things right. But the words never came and that just made him angry again. 

“Ugh, I’m so sick of this!” he exploded again, but this time, it wasn’t aimed at Adria. “I can’t… I can’t just have friends because of this! Because you’re totally right. I’m totally right! We’re all  _ totally right _ ! For us. In our cases! But I can’t just… I keep thinking that I have to be right! But logic says I can’t always be right. But I can’t ever  _ accept when I’m wrong _ ! Arrrrgh!!” 

He grabbed his shoes, which were the closest things that weren’t pinned to the ground and violently chucked them as far as he could, slamming into the window of the nearby cafe. It didn’t break, but there was a very sharp thud when they collided, glass and clogs. “God, I am  _ so sick _ of myself! I’m detestable! I can’t even accept a simple fact about the world and that pisses! Me!  _ Off _ !” He was crying now, snot leaking from his nose. He was a mess.

“And now I can’t just let it go and talk about something else.” He slumped down, finishing with a simple, “ugh.” He was out of steam. 

After a few minutes he finally said, “I… I better go get my shoes.”

 

“...yeah, okay,” 

...was what Adria could manage. She didn’t stop him, just clenched her eyes shut. 

_ Shit. _

She had tried to keep a neutral face, but after hearing a shoe clack to the window, Adria had jolted and lowered her head. Her expression had probably turned mortified. 

Now, her face just burned and she felt awful. Pointers for rational thought were good and all, but... Tlaloc understood. He understood what she had said, but that wasn’t the problem or the issue here, and she was aware of that, listening to his thoughts and him berating himself outloud. 

His words were so harsh to himself and they stung just to listen to.  _ I can’t just have friends.  _ Those words sounded like Cas; sounded like something the cold, abrasive person that Deniz was, before they became friends, would have said. Hadn’t she ever thought a version of those words herself?

But they just weren’t true.

She was speechless, but sputtered aloud,“Th-that’s not true.”

 

Tlaloc was still sniffling when Adria had stuttered out her words. It had felt like an eternity since he had thrown his tantrum, not to mention his shoes, and he had been sulking. 

_ Not true? _ He could feel the anger boiling again, but he stifled it as quickly as he could, determined not to let another outburst come out. “What isn’t true…?” He muttered through gritted teeth. He didn’t intend to come off as standoffish… but he didn’t intend to ever.

 

Adria held her tongue. But she had to answer. “It’s not-- it’s not true that….” 

She spit out what she wanted to say. “You are  _ not _ a detestable person! ...It’s not true that you can’t have friends. It never is when people say that. And… you really aren’t... I don’t think so…” 

 

It started with silence. Tlaloc had cried himself out and he didn’t have any more energy for another round. So after a minute, he finally choked out “th-then why? Why doesn’t anyone stick around?”

 

She could feel her heart break as he said that. 

“Tlaloc, what do you--?”

Distraught probably flushed over her face before she faced down again, holding her hands to her chest.

“I..I can’t answer that.” she struggled to say. “Only that… the past doesn’t determine the future. … Things change.”

 

“...yeah,” was all that Tlaloc responded with.

It was quiet for a little while longer before the boy began dancing again. He was sniffling a bit, but not often. The energy and anger and sadness that the conversation had brought him was all channeled into his movements. Into grace and speed and elegance.

“What do you do,” he asked, holding a stance, “when things suck? Like, when everything is getting you down and you can’t take it anymore?” 

 

Adria had slide back down the wall to the ground again. She still didn’t like where this was. That question was so… desperate.

“Me? I just try to focus on other things. Listen to music, or keep at schoolwork or” 

She gave a tired exhaled, then scoffed a laugh. “...Do just the opposite. Go waste my studio time adjusting stuff as shittily as possible because I can, or rant into the microphone, then make that audio sound ridiculous.”  She leaned her head back. “Or I just _ sulk around the apartment _ and throw pillows until I drive Jordan up the wall, so he decides to drive us out to Triggerfish to get ‘fresh air.’ 

Adria rested her chin on her fist and huffed. “I don’t know if it’s special or anything, but it’s fun to sing out loud to the repetitive pop and oldie radio stations, which are the only things out there, and the drives are so long.” 

 

It didn’t seem like the time for it, but still it happened. Tlaloc, despite everything started laughing. The emotion-charged situation was vacillating from side to side, from sad to ecstatic when he said, “Ha! Ahaha! You? Sing? You have such a fluxing voice though! Could you even hold a note?”

He caught himself though and said, “I mean, I’m sure it sounds charming! I just… I can’t imagine it. What’s your favorite song? Sing something!” His mouth felt sore, like he hadn’t smiled in ages. He probably hadn’t.

 

Adria put her hands akimbo and stuck out her tongue. “ _ F.Y.I _ , I was on a choir for  _ years!  _ I’d say, I’m actually decent at singing,” she grinned. Somehow, in his laughter she could feel the tension start to lift away.

She then inhaled through her teeth. “But I don’t know about a favorite song. I mean, I work with music, so I’ve got a giant list of favorites… and,” she nervously laughed.  _ “‘Sing something’?”  _

 

“Yeah, sing something!” he kept smirking, “if you’ve been in choir for years, I’m sure that you’ve slowly whittled away all semblance of shame.”

He stopped and thought, adjusting his glasses as he did. “Wait, which choir were you in? Why the hell were you in choir?”

 

Adria made a noise like a displease growl or choking. “It was like, an elementary school choir. My dad was a school teacher,  _ at the same school I went to _ , so I always had time in the mornings to join. Also, I ended up knowing all the staff and…blehh” 

She gave a defeated exhale and lazily stood up, fishing out her phone. With a few quick swipes, she held her phone out, set to the music player. “Shuffle this, or pick something out.” She added,  “I’ve got a lot of off-vocal version of songs too, for reasons.” 

 

“Reasons, uhuh? Well the reason right now, is to sing something for me!” He set the device on shuffle and hit the next button.

An electro-jazz tune began to hum through the air from the small device. “Bella Belle? I believe the proper term is ‘swingin.’ Well, Blind Wonder, have at it.” 

 

Surprised? Yes. She hadn’t heard this in forever,  _ buuut  _ not in long enough to forget the words. Adria was possibly smirking.

As the brass section fused with the song she breathed, “ _ One, Two, Three, Four”  _ and started tapping her fingers against her leg, bouncing her knees slightly. More than slightly. This was song was all confidence and femme fatale. Starts soft and snappy;  _ enticing. _

_ You're on the train, it's all the same _

_ You're looking out the window pan _ e...

As much as she’d been in choir, it’d also been a while since she was part of one, sharing space with other kids on compact stands. So she had one hand on her hip and the other swishing the air with the music. When the 2nd verse said ‘ _ She’s headin’ for the bathroom door; You follow blindly’,  _ Adria couldn’t help but flick her glasses up briefly and grin. 

And the chorus? ‘ _ Would you call this hitting the notes?’ _ she thought.

_ She said her name was Bella Belle _

_ (Soft and smooth like caramel)... _

 

As she went on, Tlaloc started snapping his fingers. She was surprisingly good for her claim to fame being in grade school choir--he’d been in one too and it was mainly loud.

“I hate to interrupt the song but… you sure you’ve only been trained by coddling, kiddie music teachers? You’ve got an amazing range of vocals!” Tlaloc wasn’t good at saying what wasn’t on his mind and that showed undeniably in his voice.

 

“Aha, well,” Praise was always sweet. “I think my old teacher had a smaller group of people to work with. Before school and all? And I spend a bunch of time at a recording studio now, maybe I pick so things uu--!”

Next verses kicked in. Should she have finished responding? Adria rushed with the lyrics, botching the first couple sentences then getting back into the tempo, right at: 

_ Without her you were incomplete _

_ You love her dearly. _

Not exactly fitting the bittersweet, second half of the song Adria wryly grinned and continued singing.  _ Might as well finish the song _ . She was enjoying herself. 

With the last words of the chorus, she held her hand out and beckoned with her fingers, trying motioning to hand her phone back so she could stop the audio. She’d finish what she was saying-- gloss over the scat and instrumental.

 

Tlaloc hadn’t missed the note about the recording studio, but he had learning something about tact in his interruption. He got the idea that a conversation and talking with her at the same time would be a confusing ordeal… for them both. So he let her finish the song. 

Besides, it wasn’t bad. Not classical, but good electronic jazz was hard to come by and something to be appreciated when encountered.

As the last part went through he gave a golf clap. He didn’t intend to come off as so demeaning because he’d legitimately enjoyed the tune, but everything he did seemed to come off that way. Maybe that was why-- 

_ No. Keep those thoughts away. _

“So, you work at a recording studio? You make electro-jazz like that? Or just work with the people?” Then a thought passed through his head and the words fell out of his mouth. “...Or you squat in there?--do you live there!?” He finished, incredulous.

 

With a dramatic bow on her part, Adria ended up giggling at that last comment. “No, no! Ha, I’m studying audio engineering! And no, I don’t live at the university studio, nor have I tried,” she joked. “But that’s the dream, right? Eventually have a studio of my own, right in my own house, or something.”

She grinned, but motioned for her phone again; she did actually want that back. “Here, hand me my phone back. I doubt you can read braille.” There  _ was _ a visual screen and touch screen though, she supposed _.  _ Anyways...

“That song’s just something I keep on me. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ve ever met the group who made that song or had the pleasure of recording it. But I try to keep up with all types of music.”

 

Tlaloc handed back the phone when she gestured for it back, leaving him a little embarrassed that that wasn’t the first thing that he’d done in the first place. In truth, he’d even forgotten he’d had it. Awkward.

Speaking of awkward, “so,” he began, “what does a. Um. An audio engineer well… do?” No matter how he said it, it only seemed to come out as dumb but he figured it was better to know than not. Besides, Adria hadn’t judged his moments of stupidity so far. Except to laugh a smirk lot.

But it was a bit different than most times that was the case. When she laughed it didn’t seem to be  _ at him. _ It was a fun laughter that made him smile. Which was odd to say the least.

 

Adria beamed. She kind of loved explaining these things; she was hoping he’d ask! “Audio engineers are the people who refine music and audio and make it awesome in general!” 

She clenched her hands excitedly and rocked on her heels. “From the musicians to the polished audio, there’s a step in between, adjusting and recording the music.” She held up the phone just returned to her. “So, like this song. Manipulating the parts of the audio so it sounds best, and making it reproducible... there’s a certain technique to it and that’s what I’m more or less learning to do. Also things like handling audio equipment in general.”

She grinned triumphantly. “And  _ I’m _ learning to do this in a professional studio and that is the  _ coolest _ shit.”

 

_ I’d never thought about that. _

“Nah, I’m sorry, but the  _ coolest shit _ is putting on a production that draws people in from far and wide just so a bunch of people get to see you perform the fucking acrobatic pirouettes and  bombasti c  brisés that you’ve been practicing for months.” He paused to take a breath.

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” Tlaloc continued, “it’s cool that you polish the shit outta audio, but there’s something about a performance that’s magical. Like, there’s only one opportunity to get it right and only one shot to take it all in. It’s unique and every show is different and a fucking work of art.”

Realizing he’d been ranting, he decided to cut himself off now by saying, “so yeah. Cool shit.” 

 

Adria leaned forward with a sort of cheeky grin.  _ Excuse me rain god, did anyone ask you to show up to this parade?  _ But she saw what he meant; it was just a different perspective.

“You’re right,” she mused. “There is magic in a performance. Months of preparation, one shot… A unique experience and then after every show,” she blew into the air, “… it’s in the past!”

She innocently put her hands behind her back. “I guess that makes the moment  a   _ one-of-a-kind _ , but it’s a shame. Like an inside joke between the audience and the performer.” She paused, smiling, yet wondering if she struck a nerve, not that she wanted to start arguing again. 

Adria tilted her head up, hopefully. “But music should be shared, don’t you think?” She grabbed at her wrist, before realizing there was a significant lack of a strap and putting her hands back behind her back again. That somewhat broke her train of thought. 

“Aha... well, uhm. If you’re looking for something romantic about audio engineering, I think there’s magic in capturing sound _ \---just vibrations--  _ in almost the same way so that people can share what they’ve made, so that everyone can enjoy it.”  She smiled inwardly to herself. “It might not be the role of the spotlight, but acoustics is, in fact, ‘ _ a fucking work of art’  _ as well.”

 

“Pfff whatever, I guess you’re righ--” it was then that the pre-recorded message played of the Squid Sisters going through their announcement:  the maps were rotating and Judd would be on break for a short while.

“I guess that’s that. It’s been an… eventful wait. More than I had expected of today. Or any day. Really. Yeah,” Tlaloc was blushing just realizing that maybe he’d just made a friend? Was this what it was like?

Whatever. He’d think about that later. “So, what  _ exactly _ are we asking mister fat cat? Just if he’s seen anything? We got a plan?” 

 

Adria gave a meek laugh. Tlaloc seemed to drop the clusterfuck of a conversation earlier, which cleared the air, but she still wanted to say something. But for later. 

“Well, that’s mostly the point of the cane, isn't it? To be seen?” That wasn’t a question she didn’t know the answer to; it was  _ rhetorical.  _ “Considering Judd gets around to all the matches, he’d have to notice it eventually.” Definitely what she wanted to believe in, but honestly, Adria deflated at her own lukewarm answer. 

“Or,” she began, “if he hasn't seen anything… that’s probably a sign that I should stop holding off on that text for a ride home later. Give my friend a heads up...” She tried to lightly laugh off the situation, of which the reality of had coming rushing back to her, but Adria was almost sure said friend-in-mind had their hands tied until later. That wasn’t terrible, but that meant she  _ was  _ essentially stuck here in the meanwhile. 

“Unless you have anymore ideas?”

“To be honest,” Tlaloc said, after a short pause. “I don’t. But if worst came to worst… I wouldn’t mind, you know, taking you home, or, I don’t know, just spending time together, until, like, you had a, um, ride--hey look, it’s Judd!”

Tlaloc, the stuttering mess, dashed back over to the pedestal, hoping that Adria would follow.


	3. Title also pending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Spoiler: the title keeps pending 'cause nobody got time for titles)

Adria smiled uncertainly at the fluster, smirking at the abruptness. “Ha ha, wait a second,” she chuckled before edging in the same direction. 

Time to see if Judd could be of help somehow. His advice usually shined though. Running her hand over the tote that Judd usually slept, --as a means of checking where she was-- Adria made an effort to face his direction when asking. Judges, even cats, were esteemed positions, she thought playfully.

“Judd? ...If you have a moment, I lost my cane sometime today and” she fretted, “it hasn’t shown up in the lost and found. Do you think you might have seen it?”

Judd, already ready to take a nap, lazily opened an eye. Noticing Adria’s particular situation, he took the initiative to sit up and respond. 

“Meow! ( Your cane? I’m sure I saw it. Someone left the Tower with it, running!)” Judd seemed to think for a moment. “ Me-yow (I saw another person chasing after them. They didn’t get back to you?)”

 

“Does that mean that someone stole it?” Tlaloc mused, “Who the hell would steal a frickin’ specialized cane? Was it anyone that you’ve seen around Adria, Judd?”

 

Judd, scratched his face with a paw, nonchalant despite the questioning. “Mreow. (The inkling I saw leave with the cane was named Cove. And I’m sure the person chasing them was Corey).” 

Adria seemed to recognize that name. “Oh! Corey! He wasn’t online last time I checked…” she said with dismay. “Also, I’ve never met anyone with the name Cove. Is that like their full name or what they use for ink battles?” She mused that last part to herself, not really expecting an answer.

 

Tlaloc grimaced, putting the facts together. “So, basically what we know is,” he started counting off on his fingers, “1) someone has your cane; 2) you don’t know who this person is or why they would even want your dhingy stick; 3) your friend is chasing after them; 4) you can’t contact said friend; 5) that person literally broke into your fucking locker!” He sighed, annoyance starting to settle on his face.

“Great, just absolutely absinthe-chugging, aerospray-snogging great. Do you have any idea which direction they went Judd?” Then checking his watch, he facepalmed realizing the last time that Judd would have been out on his throne. “Or even how long ago this was?”

 

Judd stood up and did an iconic point in the direction he saw them take off. 

Meanwhile, Adria gave a biting laugh, “Ha, they didn’t break into… my locker…? Holy shit, someone  _ took  _ my cane.” She looked mostly shocked before laughing nervously, “ahaha, why would… why would anyone do that? That’s dumb… why...” 

She snapped herself out, “Wait, no, I can still contact Corey.” She flipped out her phone, tapping it while still facing forward. “Whether he texts back or not is entirely different, but he’s just not near the Plaza, if the online status means anything.”

 

“Yeah, do that,” Tlaloc responded, distracted, “meanwhile,” he held up his arm in the motion he had before when he was leading her around the top floor, “take my arm. We should at least start heading in that direction. I think it leads down Tanuki Avenue, which is pretty niche--only leads a few places.”

As they started walking and Adria started texting, Tlaloc asked, “what do you mean, ‘they didn’t break into my locker?’ Truly miffed by that.”

  
  


“I mean, the lock wasn’t… broken or anything, not when you saw it. And my cane has disappeared like this before. Well, not like this,” she remarked, “but definitely right after a match.” She thought on that for a second. “Turf wars especially. I have no idea what that means, though. But I think it was easier to grab from the lobby room.”

“Alright, “Adria shoved her phone away when she was done and took a hold of his arm. She looked slightly anxious as they kept moving, “So… you know where we’re going?”

 

Tlaloc groaned. “Yes, I know where we’re going. It’s where we’re  _ headed _ that worries me.” He stopped, jamming the button to cross the street about seven times, in a fit of impatience.

Stopping gave him time to stop and think about what Adria had said and really let it sink in. “So, what you’re saying is that this has happened before? You mean, like, multiple times? Of someone stealing your cane? And you hadn’t caught on?”

Tlaloc’s jaw clenched tighter, if that was physically possible. “I’m gonna bash his fucking face in. His name was Cove right? He’ll certainly be one when we’re done with him.” The light changed and he led Adria across the road so they could turn.

 

Adria gave an exasperated groan, “No, not people stealing my cane, people noticing it alone in the room, before it goes back to the locker. Then grabbing it and bringing it to the lost and found. People don’t  _ normally  _ steal canes!!” 

She gave a defeated sigh, then bitterly said, “I’m just a little concerned, since I’ve never been to wherever this way. I, at least, know the Tower well enough to tell you to go the right way.” She rubbed her temples under her glasses. “Look just… tell me verbally when there are cracks on the ground, or if you’re going to slow down. And, if you need to, move your arm to guide me, like if we’re moving through somewhere narrow. Alright?”

Having gotten that off her chest, she had one last thing to add. “Also, when did Judd say they were male?  _ Don’t look for the wrong person. _ ”

 

“Yeah, guess I assumed.” He noted quickly before saying, “sidewalk ends here.”

He led them down the street for a while--as he said, there weren’t many branches as the street was closed off by many larger buildings. But eventually, they got to the end of the road which branched left and right and with that, the end of their trail.

“Cod, of course. With every branch we hit, we’re only going to lose them more,” Tlaloc was starting to get red in the face, but he still asked, “any luck texting your friend?”

 

“It’s funny you say that,” she replied, pulling out her phone. Corey had texted back a number of hasty, broken messages that somehow revealed a general location and even a street name. From the messages, it seemed like he was a bit distracted, as well as confirming he had definitely seen someone grab her cane. Apparently he was still looking.

“Oh, one moment.” Adria held the phone out for Tlaloc,” I can’t usually make use of this, but Corey turned on his location. That should be little more specific.” Considering Corey’s normal reputation of lateness, Adria couldn’t help but be slightly proud that he pulled through and answered.

Between the prompt answer and Tlaloc already using her advice, Adria could feel her nerves easing up. She exhaled quietly.  _ The situation could be so much worse. _

“Hey Tlaloc? Thanks… for walking me and keep me company.”

 

If his blush could show in his voice, which it probably did anyway, Tlaloc would have melted in shame. “I, yeah! Thanks for, I, company, yeah you too--hey!” He grabbed the phone away, moving into this very convenient tangent by saying, “let’s get ourselves to where your friend is, Corey you said?”

Moving a bit more rigidly now, proud embarrassment echoing his every move as he rigidly lead her down the road… until he realized that he’d missed a turn and they had to turn back.

...and then taking the wrong turn and having to go back. Each mistake was colored with eloquent profanity, self-degradation and profuse apology.

 

She laughed lightly, not really minding that they weren’t getting any closer. That reaction was cute. Adria was swinging around the arm she wasn’t holding onto to Tlaloc with. 

“ _ No, I should apologize, _ ” she teased,  _ “ _ I guess I should be less _ distracting? _ ” 

Ending with a last few of snickers, she gently told him, “Just focus on where we’re going for now. Since I’ve never been this way, why don’t you describe to me where we are?”

 

“Heh. Fine, well, if I’m going to do that…” he ‘hem-hemmed.’ 

When he spoke again, it was in a deeper, arguably more elegant voice. It was hard to tell if he was joking or being serious. One way or another, it was theatrical. “I shall practice my writing as well!”

Adria could hear his other arm whooshing through the air theatrically as Tlaloc--who clearly spoke quite a bit with body language--described the area around them. “The sun shone down on the pavement generating stifling heat as our heroes trudged through the back alley to return to the main road,” he paused, thinking of what to say next.

“The scenery wasn’t much different from what one would expect from the back alleys of Inkopolis,” he continued, slowly leading Adria around trash bins that had fallen over. He adjusted his glasses more than usual around the filth and his palm grew a little more sweaty. 

“The festering dregs of squidkind was littered about, refuse and trash of all kind scattered about in a chaotic mess. It was enough to make one sick,” they started to speed up until he got them out into the road proper. He didn’t want to be there any longer than he had to be.

“Though, the main roads aren’t much better, as they found, to their dismay.” The road wasn’t that bad, but there were certainly a lot of people. The roads that led to the scramble crossing were always jam-packed with people and it was very,  _ very _ difficult to get around without bumping shoulders or… erughhh.

“Hey,” Tlaloc said, going back to his usual, much less chocolate-y voice and more his norm with its scratchy undertone. “I need the fucking phone, I don’t know where we’re going from here--I just wanted us to get to the main road so I’d have better reference point.” 

 

“Ehe, sure, but quick question,” Adria held the phone away from him, smirking. “Can you  _ actually  _ find where we’re going if I hand this back to you?”

 

He paused before he answered. “Probably.” Just like her ID card before, Tlaloc swiped the phone from her hands and pulled up the GPS. He wasn’t actually that bad with directions. Usually.

...okay he was. But it wasn’t that far away and there was literally a map; it couldn’t be too difficult. And with a few turns and some bad narration, he did get them there. With only one little misdirection along the way.

Where they were though was kind of odd.

“I didn’t know there was an antique shop in Inkopolis…” Tlaloc muttered.

 

As someone opened the door to exit, Adria could clearly hear a bell ringing. Despite the streets being full of energy, the air felt stilled as it followed the person out. Or maybe that was just her. This  _ was _ an odd place to end up.

She knew what antique shops were like; packed to the brim with fragile or hazardous knick-knacks with no hint of organization. That sounded like a horrible place for her  _ or  _ Corey to be in, but she considered the fact that one could probably pawn off items to a place like this. Which… still didn’t quite make sense? Her cane was certainly a modern make. 

All she could remember, from a time when she was younger, was one of Zale’s older brothers jokingly complaining about the dust and mess, while simultaneously picking up things and pausing to examine them, giving her charming, sporadic descriptions. Antiques shops were full of  weathered items holding hidden stories. But she remembered the feeling of being lost and overly cautious, and that’s probably why she didn’t seek these places out. 

Adria spoke up. “If you see a scooter anywhere outside, I think we’re at the right place.” She held out her hand. “ _ Phone  _ please _.  _ Let’s head inside.”

 

“Yeah,” he gave back the phone, glancing at the scooter so blatantly unprotected leaning against the outside wall, “yeah, we’re in the right place, I think.”

Inside, it was surprisingly clean. The smell of wood polish was the first thing that hit the nose, old wood polish, to be exact, the sharp kind that usually made you wrinkle your nose… but it had faded. It was the smell of age. The smell of antiques.

The shop was neat and organized, something Tlaloc could appreciate. Clocks of all kinds lined one row, watches, another in the same aisle. Old instruments, from musical to nautical to navigational were lined up and organized neatly into different aisles. Old coins took up a whole shelf. For such a small-looking place from the outside, it seemed almost cavernous from the inside.

“Whoa… this is at least two times better than I expected. At least.”

 

Adria also seemed surprised. “Yes ...this definitely seems different. Than expectations.” Her feet slid against the well polished floors and the harmonious sound of clocks all came from one direction on a far wall. The simultaneous echo and muffle of noise suggested the place was both large and open, yet contained obstacles for sound. Like store aisles for instance, she supposed.

It felt… well kept. She’d hate to damage anything. Something about that made her follow closely and step with caution.

What also worried her was that this was a strangely atmospheric place for somewhere that contained a cane thief  _ and  _ Corey. Where was he? She’d yell out to him, but that didn't feel appropriate. With a quick text, she tried listening to the shuffling of shoppers, to maybe hear something out of the ordinary.

“Hm… let’s look around, try to find Corey ourselves,” she suggested. The unknownness of the environment put her on edge. “What’s this place like, anyway? Any objects look interesting?”

 

“Well, everything here looks interesting,” Tlaloc said, honestly. “Everything looks old, but polished and well-kept. I don’t really see the counter though--maybe it’s in the back. I also don’t really see anyone?”

Tlaloc moved slowly so Adria could feel around gently so as not to ruin the perfect order of the place. The building was pretty big and the aisles were packed, but slowly walking down one row and peeking in each gap showed no one.

“Weird. Well-stocked, but no one’s here. How do they stay in business?”

 

“I… I have no idea,” she replied. In fact, this place seemed too improbable to be real. She was sure she had heard someone leave the store earlier, but like a ghost town, this place really did seem empty. Silent, like a library of trinkets. 

Speaking of trinkets, she had grabbed a plush squid doll and was running her fingers over it before placing it back where she found it on. The material it was cut from was course and its  tentacle spots were intricately embroidered on. The doll wasn’t completely comfortable to the touch, but it was incredibly detailed.

Suddenly Adria jerked her head up. Foot movements-- ones of someone trying to be discreet. She hinted to Tlaloc, in a loud whisper, “Do you hear that?”

At first there wasn’t anything, but from the entrance of the aisle, someone in a green beanie edged around the corner of the aisle, holding an lineless fishing pole like a weapon. 

In a low voice, they declared, “I've  _ finally  _ got you n-- Adria!?”

Swinging around the corner, and brightening up with an ecstatic point and snap, the boy inkling called out and dashed towards them, “Adria. Adria!! You’re here! And… youuu,  _ whoever you are _ , you’re here, too!”

 

“Corey, I presume?” Tlaloc asked rhetorically, jutting his free arm out curtly, “I’m Tlaloc, resident asshole and temporary slave-boy to a specific blind girl. What’s the situation on the thief?”

 

“Yes, that’s me,” he said with a snap, missing the handshake. “Whatever you’ve heard is probably true. Uhhh, situation?” Corey cringed. “Awesome, this got awkward. Really fast.” 

The boy was wearing a camo long sleeve, layered under a white t-shirt, as well as a pair of green Hi-Tops. Green seemed to be the theme of this outfit, which was the same color as his spiked up tentacles that poked out from under his hat. His eyes were wide and bright, lime and excitable. All in all, he looked a bit like a skater, both punk and casual. 

Corey half-heartedly laughed, then adjusted his beanie and began. “The person who ran off with the cane is totally somewhere in the store --like,  _ this _ I can confirm,-- but they’re,” Corey wrung his hands, frustratedly, “like the  _ rarest pepe _ ; they’re impossible to find. I almost caught up to them three times, and then they run, and they’re just holding onto the cane and not leaving the store?? I’m starting to think there’s a secret door or something.” He murmured something like “secret store elf” while distractedly looking away.

 

“Well, if they ran here,” Tlaloc said, adjusting his glasses, “they must know this place pretty well. Conversely, that means the owner probably knows them. So, if we can find the fucking counter to this place, we could ask him. Seen it anywhere?”

Then, with a furtive glance back at the door, Tlaloc noted, “someone should probably watch the entrance in case this flighty ‘Cove’ tries to run off.”

 

Corey glanced back and forth at his fishing pole, before blurting out, “You think it’d be illegal to block the door? I could--”

He shook his head, “No, no, no. Gahhh. There is a counter, it’s behind the wall the door is in, but super to the left,” he motioned. “I guess it’s easy to miss? I’ve kind of been here for a while so I’ve probably passed by a couple of times.”

This time Adria spoke up. “Tlaloc, I heard someone leave as we got close. You think that was the store owner? Or someone else?”

Corey looked shocked at what that could imply. “No one else was here! I swear the ‘Cove’ person didn’t leave, I’ve would have noticed! The same person’s still running around the store!” He quickly listed off, “ _ Sporty bobble, vintage check, blueberry casuals.  _ Just so you know. _ ” _

 

“I see,” Tlaloc said, “well, don’t like, fucking  _ block _ the door, just stop our little cane-grabber if he, er, she? They?  _ They _ don’t leave. Bop ‘em with… your, uh, your fishing pole. Let’s go, Adria.”

With slow movements, the two started making their way toward where Corey had directed them. The counter was small, but tidy as well. There was nothing and no one behind the counter; odd for a store.

“Most thrift stores and antique shops I go to have a pile of junk to sort through behind the counter,” then, pausing, he added, “though to be fair, most stores tend to have an owner or a shopkeeper or something. Where is everybody? Anyone could just pop in here and take anything. That sounds like a horridly bad business model.”

Then, after a grimace, Tlaloc shouted, “hello! Anyone here? Potentially paying customers here!”

 

Adria snickered. “ _ Are _ we customers? Good sir, what have you come to purchase today? Did you  _ find anything to your liking _ ?” She snorted, incredulously, “you said Corey had a fishing pole?” 

Something about casually buying antiques while looking for a thief made her laugh. Speaking of Corey, the inkling had resigned himself to guarding the door since he had just been demoted from “cane catcher.” His watch of the exit wasn’t exactly stiff or ironclad, as much as it was Corey hyperactively bouncing on his feet and pacing around. Adria got the feeling that he couldn’t help it, but smirked at the sound of his footwork nonetheless. None shall pass through that door without being bopped.

“So,” she began, “do you go to enough antique shops to know the norm? Aside from the fact that there should be a shopkeeper.” That much was obvious. “This place doesn’t seem as average; maybe it’s worth getting something.” 

 

“I said ‘potentially’ for a reason, Blind Girl,” Tlaloc grinned, “but no, I don’t come to antique shops often, but my mom takes me some weird places. Like hobby shops. A lot of them are the same; cluttered but filled with treasure if you give a flying fuck to search.” He ran his finger over the counter, then, some primal part of him pleased, said “this place is spotless.”

“--and I like to keep it that way,” came a female voice from behind the counter. Apparently, as they had talked, she had snuck out from a back room, or an aisle or… something. Whoever she was, she was silent. “What would you two be looking for? I’d hoped that I wouldn’t need to explain anything--things are quite well-organized.”

Adria laughed lightly at that comment. “Unfortunately, I might need an explanation. Anyways, we are looking for something.  _ Someone _ , actually.”

She tipped down her glasses. “Or to be more correct: Tlaloc is looking, I’m tagging along. Someone took off with my white cane an hour or two ago and we’ve somehow tracked them back here.”

She suavely pushed her glasses back into place. Not to pull the “blind card” but… the whole  _ glasses flash thing _ was necessary in making their plight sympathetic,  _ and _ making them not seem like hooligans _. _ Corey should probably buy that fishing pole eventually. 

Ironically, being so obvious wouldn’t have been necessary if she had her cane. She didn’t know how she felt about that, honestly. Adria bit down an irked expression before she getting back to the topic at hand.

“Not to be accusational,” she presented, “but they seemed to come here specifically. Maybe you’ve noticed them?”

 

“Well, not many really come here that often,” the middle-aged inkling said, seemingly not perturbed in the slightest at Adria’s plight. “I know most of my regular customers. What did this person look like?”

“Sporty bobble, vintage check--” Tlaloc began.

“Cove!” the lady finished, “Cove! You’ve got some people looking for you. Come out here before I make you do you hear me?” Despite the violent nature of her words, she managed to keep up a rather calm demeanor.

With an outfit as stern as hers, it was hard not to look calm, though. She wore a plain grey tee shirt and jeans. Her face seemed always plastered in a disinterested neutral with coal-black eyes scanning over everything, taking in everything. Her tentacles, all ten, were short and evenly-displaced, not a tentacle spared for bangs. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her, not her clothes or her skin. She seemed timeless and wise, even though she was probably only in her late-twenties.

 

After the lady called out, a belated sound of dashing rung around the store, which stopped to a skid somewhere in front of the entrance door followed by string of yelping and squabbling. Corey had apparently recognized the person trying to make their way around. That lead to them taking a sharp backtrack, and running back through take another route around the aisles. The running quieted right before an inkling girl peeked around the edge of the shelf, dragging her hat down her face.

She hissed, “atchacha… this isn’t exactly the best time, exactly. At all.”

 

“It may not be the best time,” the shopkeeper said, “but it’s the time. Do you have any idea why these inklings would be looking for you?”

 

Cove jeered and muttered under her breath, “...you mean aside from the guy with the fishing pole?”

She crossed her arms sourly, before actually sizing up  _ the inklings that might be looking for her _ , eyes suddenly widening and frowning abruptly. She was stuttering like a shrimp caught in a floodlight.

Adria, noticing the sound of gaping and stutter, decided to either make the situation more obvious, or just pour salt in the wound, by flicking her glasses up again. Not that she was losing her patience, but she was. 

Cove’s response to that was to stammer and drag her hat down over her ears more. “I-I thought I had more time! I.. aaaccckk!”

“More time for what, ya grimy-pawed thief!” Tlaloc sneered, “you took something from her and you’re going to give it back, okay?”

He hadn’t realized it, but he was already taken steps toward the bauble-headed loser-jerk who’d taken the cane of a blind person. That was just cruel and unusual and he honestly just wanted to beat the tar out of her. Literally.

 

“No! No, wait!” Cove glanced around with frantically, retorting back,“trust me,  _ oh, trust me,  _ you do  _ not _ want this back right now!” She held up a finger, “J-just wait a minute… I’ll be back, in like--”

Cove tried to back away from Tlaloc. As she did, the tubular shape of a cane was clearly grasped behind her back, as she stepped away from the shelf. 

Adria huffed an irritated exhale. Stalling at this point was just rude. She deserved at least an explanation. Good thing she was  _ at least _ paying attention. With the sound of Corey’s bouncing gone missing, Adria icily asked, “Would you stop them from leaving?”

On cue, Corey slid out from the aisle way in the direction Cove had come from, spreading his arms and holding the fishing pole out to block the passage.

“ _ That  _ I can do,”Corey replied, flexing his fingers and grinned smugly at Cove, giving her a snide  _ “hi there,”  _ while he was at it.

Blocked in and nervously sputtering incomplete words, Cove shot an extremely pleading look towards the shopkeeper.

 

“You worked yourself into this situation,” she said, dryly, “you should work yourself out of it. The best way to do that is to tell the truth.” Her gaze was dry but caring.

Tlaloc’s was cold and callous. “Truth about what? Why would you even steal a blind person’s cane? Is there some big reason behind it? Are you in league with the Illuminati and this is a part of their plan?” 

 

“Uhm,” Adria pursed her lips. “Can we not be ridiculou--”

“It all makes sense now!” Corey zealously interjected. “Between your sneaking around and the weird computer stuff and then taking the cane…” He recoiled his hand up like he had just discovered something ghastly. “Who are you working for!? What do you intend to do?” he declared, dramatically pointing his pole.

Adria just deflated and frowned. “Corey please.”

Cove spun around to retort. “Tch, my computer stuff isn’t… weird! It’s cool and advanced as shit!” She then shrunk her voice back considerably, “...and totally unrelated.” 

As she turned her back to Adria and Tlaloc, the state of the cane was suddenly… much more apparent. She was holding the detached end tube --the one with the cane tip-- next the rest of the telescopic cane. The part of the cane that had been severed looked bent and was starting to splinter.

 

“Not exactly explaining, but that works,” the shopkeeper muttered.

“Y-you broke it!” Tlaloc exclaimed. He couldn’t say much more.

“Cove here, came to me with the intention to have it fixed,” the shopkeeper explained. “I have some experience with refurbishing. Though, it turned out that it wasn’t just a cane, there was some digital device on the inside and I didn’t quite understand.”

She shrugged. “Other than that, I don’t know much more than you because your friend over there has made it hard for me to talk for more details.”

 

Having the difficult part of the conversation cleared for her, Cove held up the cane and tried explain the circumstances herself.

“I..I found the cane alone in a lobby room and was trying to find who it belonged to,” Cove rambled, “when… the cane got caught in a door, and it  _ snapped,  _ and then I kind of  _ freaked out  _ and I thought maybe I could fix it and get it back before anyone noticed. _ ” _

Corey blinked, looking somehow more confused. “Wait, but… I seriously saw you sneaking around different lobby rooms, before you just… took off with the cane! Are you saying this was an accident?” He shrugged, completely mystified, “Why were you running _?” _

Cove wailed, “You were  _ chasing me.  _ I panicked! _ ” _

Corey only implored in a loud whisper, “ _ But did you have to run?” _

“Ktchch, I said,  _ I panicked!” _

Meanwhile, through this Adria kept her mouth in a hard line. Her grip on Tlaloc became unnecessarily tight for a moment, before she simply pulled her hand away and turned her head to face away from the conversation. Her only response was cold, “I see.”

 

The shopkeeper could see the tensions starting to run high so she cut in. “I understand how this could be more than inconvenient for you--what did you say your name was?”

“Adria,” Corey, Adria and Tlaloc said in unison.

“Adria then. I can understand how this is a problem for you and I can’t expect you to accept Cove’s apology… whenever she means to give it,” she eyed the panicked-looking girl before continuing. “But Cove has offered to pay for any and all repairs to make things right. Right?”

“--that includes sundays,” Tlaloc cut in. “Ice cream sundays.”

 

Adria stopped whatever she was saying to shoot incredulous look in Tlaloc’s general direction. “Wh--Ice cream?  _ Ice cream sundays _ ,” she reiterated. “What does this have to do with  _ anything _ ?”

 

“I want ice cream,” he huffed. “It’s been a long day.”

 

Still just as baffled, she stammered, “Alright? I… I guess?”

Corey and Cove traded curious looks. 

Corey shrugged coolly. “There’s this... really good place in Booyah Base. Right above the arcade? I go there with D’ sometimes.”

The was a brief pause in the conversation before Adria groaned, and held out her hand. “Arugh, Cove, just hand me back my cane.”

Cove gave a small jump at being directly addressed. She weakly protested, “but, it’s broken… I don’t think it’ll work anymore, I can--” With Adria expectantly holding her hand out, Cove ended up handing it back anyway, left to simmer from embarrassment while dragging down her hat. “I’m  _ really  _ sorry about this, I’m _ really fucking sorry _ . And seriously! I will pay for anything to make this up to you.”

 

“For what it’s worth,” the shopkeeper cut in, between Cove’s blubbering, “she’s good on her word. I’ve never seen her go back on it--she may seem misguided, but, behind her snooty attitude, she means well and will do whatever it takes to make things right.”

Tlaloc wasn’t wholly convinced. “Well, we’ll see. How does it feel Adria? Your sight-stick making you any less blind at the moment?”

 

Adria went silent, inspecting the damage for herself. Not that she needed to check it was her’s, but the same pair of words were still imprinted around the base of the handle. After a pause, she reached for her phone, pulling up a phone number and mailing address.

“Contact this place and send the cane there.” Adria stated. “Specify for a pencil cane tip and to not replace the handle.”

Cove audibly brightened at the response. “Does this mean--?”

Before Cove could get ahead of herself, Adria swung her cane with surprising precision, stopping right in front of  Cove’s face.

“No,” Adria seethed, “I’m still angry about this, but it’s not because the cane is broken.” She brought her cane back and collapsed it sternly. “I’m mad because you thought you could just run away without so much as a word. Canes break  _ all the fucking time!  _ But I need to know what the hell is going on, instead of being  _ stripped  _ of my fucking confidence to walk around with no explanation!”

Adria glared, her face flushing. She was clutching her cane lividly, but Adria stopped herself, dragging a hand up her face, under her glasses. She paused for a moment before speaking in a noticeably calmer voice, “But I know that shit happens. ...Probably better than anyone.” She struggled with the words before exasperatedly sighing. “But I appreciate you owning up to this now.”

Holding the parts of the cane under her arm, she reached out to try to find Tlaloc’s arm again. “You know, I still don’t think you get how this works. I’m not any less without blind with my cane,” she joked.

 

“You sure?” He asked, an overly-quizzical expression on his face, “I was  _ so fucking sure  _ that the cane suddenly and magically made your eyesight better. Something about the finish or the ancient magjyks placed upon it during its creation in the kitsune lair.” 

He stroked his chin, looking the part of an intellectual sizing up the cane. “Level 5 sight spell. At least.” After he said that, he held out his arm again with a “here you go, Blind Girl.”

Meanwhile, the shopkeep scolded Cove, with a small smile on her face. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. You should have owned up to the problem in the first place and then none of this would have happened.”

 

Adria snorted. “‘ _ Magjyk glyphs _ ’ are actually dumb inside joke, because if you’re going to customize a cane, why the shell not? But Kitsune lair is actual pretty accurate,” she snickered.

Cove pouted at the shopkeeper’s reprimanding, her hat pretty much cover the top half of her face because she was just too defeated to adjust it. “ _ Yeah,” _ she huffed, “I know.  _ Mghfh _ .” 

With an exaggerated exhale, she asked, “...I could get started on that now if you want. Since it sounds like you’d have to package it or something? Get it to you as soon as possible…?”

Adria offered up a small smile, handing over the parts. “Yes, sound like a plan.” 

With Adria’s hands free, she found a comfortable hold on Tlaloc again, faintly grinning at the fact he was still letting her hold onto him like that. Adria was wondering if he’d say something or try to hand sanitize eventually, but she wasn’t going to be the one to point that out.

Cove, having looked up the address on her own phone, looked over the parts again, determined to not  _ fuck this up.  _ She went up to the shopkeeper, an apprehensive look on her face. “Can I … can I use the stuff in the back room to get this done? And maybe… use your address for the return? Or… something like that?”

 

The shopkeeper shrugged. “No qualms here. Business isn’t exactly booming, so I have the time to receive a cane. Do you need something to box that in, Cove? Packing?” 

As the two figured out the details of the shipping, Tlaloc asked, “so, now that all this is over… a fishing pole? Seriously? I mean, nice to meet you, for real this time. I’m Tlaloc.” He held his hand out for a handshake for the second time.

 

Corey grinned widely, this time taking Tlaloc’s handshake and enthusiastically returning it. 

“Aha, _ I know, _ I should have grabbed something cooler! I was looking for something inkbrush-like and just grabbed whatever.” 

Pointing his thumbs to his chest, Corey introduced himself. “I’m Corey,  _ the one and only _ , and uh,” he laughed, sheepishly, “sorry about earlier! I get ahead of myself sometimes…  _ aand _ I guess that’s kind of why we all ended up out here.” 

He remarked, “But at least this place is pretty cool! Kind of a shame there’s so little business…” 

 

“Yeah, well,” Tlaloc begin, taking a look around the room himself and admiring the clean logic of the store, “well, unfortunately, all these things only mean something to someone in certain situations. And if they don’t mean something to someone, they aren’t bought.”

He scratched his cheek realizing he hadn’t said exactly what he meant, so, wiping his Corey’s sweat off his hand with a ‘kerchief, he tried again. “I guess what I mean is… when you look at, say Cooler Heads, you walk in for a hat. You know what you’re getting, in general, when you walk in. It’s kind of their biz. Sure, maybe you’ll buy some candy or something while you’re there--that’s just fucking clever marketing--but you came in for a hat and you got it.”

Waving his (clean) free hand, he motioned to the rest of the room. “This here offers nothing in particular. No offense ma’am. It’s a place you could find anything. It’s all well-organized, but you could find an old squiddle toy or an, I’dunno, eldritch dictionary for the Deep Ones.”

“None of those in stock,” the shopkeeper said, breaking away from her conversation with Cove.

“Wha…” Tlaloc began, the weirdest look on his face.

“We had one, but some shady person came in and bought it for an exorbitant amount of money.” She shrugged. “I’m not complaining.”

 

Adria pursed her lips. “Ma’am, that is truly a shame there are no more in stock.”

Corey nodded at what Tlaloc had to say, but also held out his hands, forming a rectangle with his fingers like he was taking a snapshot.

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying but… I wouldn’t exactly come here looking for anything in particular. More like…” he looked distantly at nowhere in particular, “come here to enjoy the aesthetic. Take the time to look for something that was also… always looking for you.”

Corey paused dramatically... before outright stating, “Also, I’ve never even heard of this place before today. At  _ all _ .  _ Ever. _ ” 

“Yo, I could  _ totally  _ promote this on one of my blogs, like… right now.” A sly grin crossed onto his face. He had already pulled out his tablet, then tapped a few screens in, then started dangling his finger right over a supposed button.

“Do you want me to?” He giddily asked. ‘Cause I can. And it would be awesome.  _ Yay, nay, maybe?” _

 

The shopkeeper, hearing Corey’s comment about blogging, made a calm smile. “Sure. I would like that, even though I personally doubt its effectiveness. Allison’s Antiquery; just make sure you mention the name. I believe you already asked for the address and I suspect you haven’t lost it within the past thirty minutes.” Having made her comment, she returned to her conversation about the cane. “Now, Cove, before shipping something like this of…”

Tlaloc, on the other hand, stared at Corey incredulously. “You… you blog?”

 

Adria shook her head, smiling. “ _ Oh,  _ you could say that,” she agreed, laughing and tacking on in a hushed voice, “you walked into this yourself.”

Corey, on the other hand, was more than smiling, filled with complete euphoria down to his body language. Then with an giant gasp, his expression changed to slow agony.

“I  _ live on  _ on Squidverse,” he wheezed. “I run like,  _ THREE  _ different blogs: my personal one, my art blog, and then,” Corey brought his fist close to him in slow, theatrical triumph, “my blog for  _ the dank memes. _ ”

He brought himself to his tablet again,”But for I guess for now, my important one is the personal since that’s where I should post this.” Corey held up the screen, scanning the room, and snapping loud snapshots. He started listing off, “one or two pictures,  _ Allison’s Antiq... _ Antiqu-auto correct, then…” 

Corey slowly dropped his finger of the post button, “Kke-spersh, whiirrr, perrwww, _ inktrike noises...  _ Done! Six hundred followers  _ just _ got this on their feed.  _ Not too shabby _ , if I do say so myself.” 

 

“Oh my god,” Tlaloc said, “one moment, Adria, can I quickly, I’ll need my arm free for this.” He gently pried her fingers off his arm and then, getting down on his hands and knees continued with, “oh blogging god! It is an honor to be in your presence! May is clean your boots? Let me lick the ground you walk upon on holy text-managing picture-taking powerhouse. Except I won’t because licking the ground is gross.” He was literally prostrating himself on the ground in front of Corey.

Then, after a few seconds, he got up, held his arm out for Adria and said, “but seriously why the hell? I just, don’t see why it’s so great to have a million billion people looking over every little thing you do. It’s… a breach on my privacy.” 

Realizing quickly enough that he had touched the floor, with his hands, Tlaloc pulled out his hand sanitizer bottle and squeezed some of the translucent elixir onto his hands and rubbed furiously. Only after that did he offer his arm to Adria again. 

 

Corey chuckled. “It’s not  _ really  _ like that. I mean, it’s nice having lots of people be curious about dumb stuff I do. And it’s not like I don’t know how to…” he scratched his cheek, suddenly a bit quieter, “...not reveal important stuff that should probably be in person. Or… have people I know in real life find my stuff.”  

He seemed distracted for a moment, before snapping back to reality. “Also, my art blog is kind of an online portfolio. That’s where most of my followers find me. And my last blog… it’s not even my content. Just stuff I’ve collected sifting online or spray painting stages.”

He slid his hand through the air, suavely, “And that’s actually a decent amount of work, but it's worth it!”

 

“Well, putting it that way,” Tlaloc said, “I admire the lifestyle because anything that requires hard work and dedication is good in my book. I’m still not a huge fan of the idea, not that that really means anything to you.”

Then, after a moment, he went on. “You… what are you going to write specifically for this? I mean, it’s a fucking antique store in the middle of nowhere--which is saying something considering we are literally in the center of a fucking metropolis.”

 

Corey shrugged, accompanied by some kind of non-committal noise. 

“Not... much? I mean, just some pictures, the address, the fact that this place is giant and totally neat, -- _literally--_ and that the aesthetics are wicked. Also kind of hinted that “fun times” happened, but...” 

Suddenly second guessing the post, Corey started flipping through screens on his tablet. “I saw this really cool-ass board game set and mobile while I was running around, too, so I added that also.” He narrowed his eyes and  _ hmm’d,  _ “and it’s not like I usually write anything long.” 

Somewhere during this conversation, Adria received a text and started responding to it, but still linked around Tlaloc’s arm, she playfully nudged him in the side. 

“Why so  _ curious?”  _ she inquired _. _ “You want to add anything?”

 

“No!” Tlaloc responded, probably too quickly. Still, he was offended at even the notion that he would want to participate in such… internet tomfoolery. “I mean, I tend to end up writing urban plots, so it would make sense that I should understand the source material in case I ever end up, you know, needing to know about… stuff. Like blogging. Yeah.”

He shrugged. “That and I couldn’t really think of something to write about this place. It’s nice. It’s neat. It’s organized; speaking of which, is that a tribal mask from the Calamari period?” He pointed toward a back wall with a number of bizzare looking masks in the shapes of animals. “Are those  _ all _ fucking masks from the Calamari period?”

“I wouldn’t say that those masks were used in procreation rituals,” the shopkeeper said, absentmindedly, with a dry tone. “Though yes, most are from that time period with a few exceptions--that is, fakes.”

Tlaloc moved over to the wall to get a closer look at the masks, dragging Adria over to the wood-carvings. “Hey, uh, can she touch them?” The shopkeeper simply nodded. She was filling out forms with Cove--return addresses, billing information, things of that ilk.

 

Adria ran her hands up the wall, pulling down the first mask she felt. Whatever had been sent to her, she seemed to put her phone away for now.

“ _ Phrasing, _ ” Adria snickered, quickly remarking, “I like the shopkeeper. She’s direct and no-nonsense.”

But after the comment, Adria engrossed herself in examining the mask, feeling around the inside grooves. “You sounded like you recognized these,” she mentioned,  gently turning over the mask and feeling the mask’s outer designs. “Certainly not a thing  _ I _ would remember if it was taught in school.”

Adria curiously brought the mask up in front of her face, then faced Tlaloc’s direction. “Heh… what is this?”

 

Tlaloc beamed at the question. “Yeah, my mom is into all kinds of dumb things like this. Culture and history--stuff that no one else would give a shit about. I happened to pick up a few things from her.”

He ran his hands over the grooves around the eyeholes and the intricate patterns carved all throughout the ivory mask. Other masks were made of more or less valuable materials. One was made from a stiffened velvet, another of a carved wood, though each one seemed designed to cover the whole face. 

“Not much is known about the Calamari period because we weren’t all that keen on documenting things at that point--that is, the written inkling language as we know it now wasn’t developed,” he shrugged. “But we have a lot of these masks. There are some theories that they denoted wealth of certain members of society. The better quality the mask, the better quality the materials, the better off the Inkling was.”

He couldn’t help but pick one up. It was light to carry, which was surprising. Turning the mask around, there was an ink core that an inkling could synch to.”Many even think that this was the beginning of modern fashion as we know it and why we care so much about what we’re wearing, but who the fuck gives a shit?” Still, he sounded happy to have gotten to share such a tidbit. 

 

Adria smiled softly, holding the mask with a new sense of wonder. 

“Haha, aren’t we already sort of wearing masks?” she laughed, rubbing a pair of fingers below one of her eyes, where her smooth black markings were. “But apparently there can never be enough mask, not when  _ fashion is involved _ ,” she smirked.

“Makes you wonder ‘why hide the face specifically’,” Adria said wistfully, placing the mask back on the wall. “And, for these being so ancient, I can feel how accurate the symmetry is. ...Well, maybe it’s just this mask, but it’s interesting.”

 

“Eh, they’re not much like masks,” Tlaloc joked. “they’re kind of part of our faces.”

Though looking at the masks again, he couldn’t help but wonder about that. ‘Hiding the face specifically…’ “Well,” he began, “I guess people use faces a lot to recognize people. I mean, they’re kind of fucking unique. We’ve all got little and humongous differences that make it easy to recognize who we are.”

He couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful the masks must have been in their prime. “Though… I could see why one would want to wear it. These are fucking gorgeous.”

 

_ Fucking gorgeous.  _ Adria laughed, though a bit half-heartedly. The intricacy and pattern of the masks were all wonderful, but she could only feel unable to appreciate the masks fully. Adria shook her head.

“No, I realize faces tell a lot about people. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to recognize someone’s features if they were wearing a mask, though… that’s probably not what I’d try to recognize first.” She grinned, “I guess a mask wouldn’t be the best way to fool a blind girl.”

She pulled another mask down from the wall, giving this mask another thorough feel-over. This one was less elevated, more smoothed and velveteen. A completely different feel from the last.

“What I mean is….  _ why _ conceal what people recognize,” Adria said, turning over the mask and tracing the edges. “Though, I guess there really isn’t an answer to that besides speculation.”

 

Tlaloc grunted in acknowledgement before setting the mask back down and asking, “how much are these, anyway?”

“About 100k.”

“That’s pretty fair…” Tlaloc muttered before returning to the conversation at hand. “Yeah, some speculation can lead to new theories, but a lot of it is just pure fun. Not much point in it…” He trailed off, setting the mask back on the rack.

“My mom,” he said, suddenly, “she really likes to come up with theories. She’d tell me stories about little artifacts like these. I only recently learned that she’d made a lot of those anecdotes and folk tales up.” He chuckled dryly. “Still… I guess it left an impression on me.” 

 

Adria was quiet and held the mask close, smiling at the tone she could hear in Tlaloc’s reminiscing. That is, before remembering to actually pay attention to the details of the mask, or at least to act like it. 

“Your mom sounds fun” she smiled. “ _ Really _ different than my mom, though that’s not really a bad or good thing, I guess.” Adria paused and seemed to mull over a thought. “I mean, I don’t usually stay with my parents, guess I should give them a call or something.”

She redirected her train of thought, “So your mom just  _ made up _ ancient folk lore to go with things?”

 

“Yeah, she has a knack for storytelling. Any being a political activist. And archeology… she’s around a lot,” he laughed before adding, “and yet, somehow she always makes time to be at home. I don’t know how she does it.”

He wanted to ask about Adria’s parents because he saw her flippant attitude toward them… but decided that, since she seemed in a much better mood, probably because the cane situation was being sorted out, he’d rather keep her that way.

Instead, he said, “so how’d you meet Fisherman Pro over there?” Corey had, at this point, set down the fishing pole and was now fervently taking pictures--half of which were selfies--all around the store.

 

She snickered in response to the nickname and the sound of camera flashes. Where and when had she met Corey? The notion that he randomly popped into her life didn’t seem that outlandish, but the specific memory itself was foggy.

“I don’t remember  how we met all that well,” she replied. “We share a lot of friends so it was probably a ‘friend-of-a-friend’ sort of situation,  _ but _ ,” Adria grinned, “I suppose between all of the ‘weapon guide jokes’ and weird field trips, we’re a bit more than acquaintances.” 

Though what she said left her warm and fuzzy, Adria felt her actual answer was a bit incomplete. “Corey might actually remember, but… if I had to guess, I think I met Darya first, then Corey. ...Oh. Um.” 

Adria blinked.  _ Pssh. “ _ Darya is Corey’s best friend. They’re usually joined at the hip, however, they don’t seem to be at the moment,” she joked. “Darya happens to be one of the people I know who can walk with me back to my apartment.” 

 

“I see,” Tlaloc said, plainly. “I don’t know I just…” he looked at Adria, then to the goofball, then back. “I guess I just assumed you were closer than that. I’m still new to all those  _ wonderful things _ like friend dynamics. You know, things like that.”

It was only afterwards that he realized that he had a tinge of spite in his voice and he quickly added, “but yeah, it’s fan-fucking-tastic that you have friends that are so willing to do nice things for you!”

Smooth. He wanted to adjust his glasses, but Adria has the arm that he normally did that with, so that was out of the question.

 

With the slightest sigh, Adria muttered to herself just barely audible. Something like Cas saying the something similar, maybe the exact same words.

She shook her head and mustered a smile. Adria wanted, desperately and deviously, to turn the spite behind the statement on it’s head.

“You aren’t wrong that we know each other pretty well.” Adria began. “I mean, I guess chasing someone down for their white cane is something in the upper levels of friendship. Like, level 25 _at least_ ,” she grinned. That deserved an eye-roll.

“But I also think Corey would have done that for anyone else... coincidentally missing their cane or elsewise. I mean… you’ve stuck around and helped me get my cane back. Er, sort of. I just don’t think time or circumstance determine closeness. More like, how ridiculous and impromptu life-changing field trips are.”

 

Tlaloc chuckled and, oddly enough, didn’t roll his eyes at her dumb comment. 

“Well,” he began, with just a little tenderness laced in, “well, it’s not every day I get shown up in a sport where people almost solely rely on their sense of sight by someone who is literally incapable of seeing.”

He thought he was done, but it just kept coming, “and then further, leading her around, learning more about what it’s like to be blind, and helping said disabled cutie--” he paused there for a moment, realizing the word he said before letting himself stumble into the next words. 

“Uh, then to, um find her magical kitsune sightstick only to find out that the twig is broken in an antique shop in the middle of nowhere.” He shrugged, hoping that covered up what he’d said before.

“I just thought that ‘impromptu life-changing field trip’ didn’t totally cover the situation.”

 

Adria blinked, stunned again by Tlaloc’s runaway honesty. Like she could pretend to not hear  _ that _ , among the already sweet and genuine words. 

Suddenly, Adria could feel her entire face heat up, like a dizzying burst of steam had just escaped from her head. So, you know, good time to stutter out a response.

“N-no! That wouldn’t… wouldn’t cover it! Ahaha, nope, not today--”

“--OH! So that’s how this happened!”

Adria made the most undignified noise at Corey appearing out of nowhere. 

“Oh my  _ inking goodness! _ ” Adria rasped, not very composed and voice shrill. “What do you not get about ‘ _ don’t sneak up on me _ ’?” 

“Psssh, I didn’t sneak up on you,” Corey waived off, “I came from over... there. From the left,” he clarified. He then, obliviously, walked behind the two and snapped a selfie with them. 

“ _ Anyways _ , “Corey began, focusing back on his screen and adding some text to the photo, “I was actually about to say that I should leave soon-ish and meet up with D’, but yeah, I was wondering why you didn’t call Wade or Zale right away. Like, Deniz isn’t here --they kind of live in the fucking woods-- and Zale may or may not have gotten arrested, so that severely limits your options of people to chill with while your cane is gone.”

Corey faced up and grinned brilliantly. “But this seems to have worked out, right?”

 

“Wait, go back to the part about someone being arrested, what!?” Tlaloc exclaimed. “Excuse me Adria, I need my arm back while I furiously jab my glasses back up upon the ridge of my nose repeatedly while I question you thoroughly about your friends who may or may not be woodland creatures and thugs.”

Then, after a second, turned back to Corey and said, “by which I do not mean you, you are a gentleman and a scholar oh blogging master of the fishing pole.”

He did not pull his arm away from Adria’s, or even make an attempt to. He did, however, use his other arm and make the silly, repetitive gesture.

Then, after about a dozen clicks of his glasses, he added, “oh yeah, what was that about things working out? Do you have plans after this or something Adria? If you need help getting there, then I don’t mind continuing to be a glorified walking stick. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

He could see Corey snickering, but couldn’t exactly tell why.

“D-did I miss something?”

 

“Nah, you didn’t miss _anything,_ ” Corey grinned.

“Since Adria looks like she’s set with someone to walk with… I thought I’d take off. Like, call me or Wade if you need anything, but,” Corey laughed and gave a pair of thumbs up, “things look fine here. Ice cream, right?” 

Adria blinked. “Er. Yes. No, wait. No seriously,  _ back up _ . When did ‘Zale getting arrested happen’? Also, Deniz does not live in the woods.”

Corey retorted,“ _ Bullshark,  _ their grandma is a crazy park ranger and you know it,” he added, “and besides, living in the woods is their claim to being anti-social.”

“Triggerfish is not  _ the woods---okay,  _ you know what? Let's go with that.” Adria shook her head. “ _ Zale _ . He got arrested?”

“Ehehe, maybe? He was here earlier in the morning, then he took off with this tall lady in a SquidForce jacket, and didn’t come back. I don’t actually know.” Corey was resizing something on his tablet and mumbling. 

“...Antique shop and then-- ‘Tlaloc’, how do you spell that? T-H-...?”

 

“No, no, go on. It’s amusing to watch people slaughter the letters of my name.”

 

Corey pouted, somewhat taken aback. “Whoa, alright, alright. That’s why I asked! I know there’s like, a million ways to spell Darya, so  _ pssh _ . That’s why I kept my name short and sweet.”

 

“Yeah, because we all had choices in our names…” Tlaloc muttered. “I’m more surprised that you got a say in yours.” His words were said in total seriousness. The thought that Corey might be joking didn’t even cross his mind.

“Anyway, it’s T-L-A-L-O-C. Tlaloc as in pretentious rain god. Thanks, dad.”

 

“...L-O-C. There,” Corey grinned at his tablet, swiping away the photo. He scratched the side of his face, mumbling something like, “Mm yeah, names.”

“ _ ‘Rain god’... _ ?” Corey questioned. A sly grin spread over his face.

“Did you summon him with your  _ psychic shaman dynamo power _ s?” he joked, nudging Adria in the side. She nudged him back, predicting that joke a mile away.

“ _ Maybe,” _ she answered with fake curtness, trading nudges with Corey until he broke off, chuckling. 

“That is the freakiest \--and probably best-- coincidence _ever_ ,” he laughed, pulling his tablet up again. “I have to tell Darya!”

 

“...what?” Was all Tlaloc could muster. “I don’t even. Like, what? What is this about shaman powers? Is your dynamo blessed by the kitsune as well? Is that why you manage to splat people even though you can’t even see them? Your mystical, deep-forbidden, cuttlecursed inkstick of doom?”

He turned his nose up at Adria, fake-disgust in his every word. “How  _ could you _ ? ...and what are you even telling this Darya, Corey? That Adria summoned a god? Because I’m hardly that. At best I’m a cloud of hot air.”

 

Corey doubled over laughing, as Adria snorted in between actually trying to clarify the situation.

“Adria, how _could you?”_ Corey said with mock-seriousness, wiping a tear from his eye. “Using your black majyks and psychic powers to splat people? Luring innocent squids to be your slave for a day?! _Despicable.”_

“ _ Excuse you _ !”Adria snickered. “I,  _ in fact _ , don’t need mystic powers to splat people ...or get helped by rainy, hot-air clouds and stuff.”

She tried to point in Tlaloc’s general direction, but somewhat overshot. “...This person.” 

Adria clammed up for a moment, that last bit coming out more awkward then she had hoped. She brushed it off, transitioning to her next sarcasm dripped words. “It’s almost like,  _ whoa, _ I’m  _ not _ psychic, nor do I possess any magical or otherwise supernatural powers!”

Corey leaned over to Tlaloc to whisper, “That’s exactly what someone would say if they  _ were _ psychic.”

“ _ Hmm,  _ I knew you’d say that.”

Corey broke into an incoherent mess of giggles, flopping to the ground as a squid. Adria hid her laughter in her other hand. 

“Okay,” Adria assured Tlaloc, “This probably makes no sense, but it isn’t occult or code. Deniz dug up this weaponry guide, and this joke  _ spiraled _ out of control when Corey managed to convince some people I’m some kind of blind prophet. ...And this is all relevant, because some of the exact wording in the guide is...,” she smiled coyly. “Well, it’s sort of fitting.”

 

“I don’t care if it’s a running gag,” Tlaloc said, all serious, “I said what I said and I’m sticking to my guns.”

Then, grinning a little he added, “also, if you’re going to point at me,  _ point _ at me. You are holding my damn arm for pete’s sake!” It was only then that he realized that she’d, for the more part, been holding his arm for the whole time and he hadn’t had the urge to cleanse his arm that whole time.

...so he pulled out his sanitizer and started to clean his arm and hers. Only after a little bit did he realize that that might be a bit weird and he made an attempt to recover noting, “oh, shit, um, yeah, sweat and, yeah, clean. Adria, Corey, if it isn’t a bit obvious already, I’m a bit neurotic. I’m, uh, particularly triggered by germs and grime and, uh, sweat.”

“So, yeah, sorry for sanitizing your arm,” he finally added.

 

Adria gave a kooky grin, a shiver running through her when the chilling sanitizer evaporated. “That’s so cold!” Adria snickered, prying her fingers away momentarily when rolling her shoulders back. 

“And… don’t worry about it,” she smirked. “Mm, maybe warn me though if you do that again. Also, sorry, I can’t point straight.” She snidely added, “My aim is somehow worse than Corey’s.”

Corey indignantly held up a finger to protest, but didn’t actually retort. “Y’know,” he smacked his lips, “you could have finished that with ‘I can’t even  _ be  _ straight,’ but…  _ I see how it is _ .”

Adria laughed back, then grinned warmly. “Tlaloc, I don’t think either of us have any trouble looking past the sanitizing and odd quirks.” She adjusted her own glasses, still smirking. “I know I’ve got my own.” 

 

“Heh… okay.” Was all Tlaloc could say as he finished rubbing the strong-smelling ointment over his skin.

“I guess I’m just new to the whole ‘acceptance’ thing. Forgive me if I don’t exactly mind my p’s and q’s perfectly well. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I haven’t exactly had a good friend in ages.”

Tlaloc turned to Corey, giving him the most kind look he could give a person--though that was still probably not saying that much. “So I’d invite you to mooch sundaes with our thief as well, but you said you have a date with the ‘D’... not that I’m judging or anything.” He hoped his joke was in good taste, though he wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore today.

Nothing except that he was having a better day than in a long time and he was getting free ice cream out of it.

 

Corey made a dramatically surprised face, before motioning to _calm down,_ and mocking an old-timey accent. “Now, _now there son,_ Darya and I are _not_ dating.” 

Corey sat up off the floor and grinned excitedly, back to his normal voice. “She’s my best friend and half- roomie! We’ve known each other forever!  _ Aaaand  _ she totally said that your name and stuff was adorable,” Corey cooed, grinning at a photo response on his tablet --an Inkling girl selfie in a room with neon lighting. 

Corey chuckled, “Also, I… was kind of headed in the same direction.  _ Arcade and all _ . The creamery-place is just above the arcade, but I’ll probably split up from you guys anyway? I’ll kind of outpace you guys on my scooter.”

He nodded up to Adria. “Sound good?”

Adria grinned, still beaming from Tlaloc’s comments. “Yup, sounds good.”

Corey stood up off the floor and dusted himself, more or less ready to take off.

 

“I guess that means we just need to grab the nerd-thief wherever she is,” Tlaloc said, after Corey had left the shop. “...Where did they get off to?”

“Who are you calling ‘nerd-thief!’” Came a response from the back room.

“As you can probably tell,” came a calmer voice, “we’re just finishing things up.” When they came out, the shopkeeper, presumably Allison, was holding a neatly sealed cardboard box with a hand-penned label detailing addresses of return and business. “Cove has just finished wiring the money to the company and I’ll mail the cane in for repairs.”

Setting the box down on the counter she asked Adria, “would you mind giving me your number? I can contact you when the cane comes back in. If you have an address you’d prefer them to return the cane to, I can change that simply enough so that the cane gets shipped directly to your apartment.”

 

“Oh! That’d actually be really convenient,” Adria realized, pulling out her ID. “If you could match this address, that would be really helpful,” she chirped, internally scoffing for not figuring something so simple, but instead focusing on the fact she could do this all behind Zale’s back without any dumb griping from his end.  _ This was soooooo convenient.  _

Cove walked out behind Allison, her hands behind her head, clutching onto her bobble hat and her dark blue tentacles down at full length. She rolled her eyes upward.

“Man, you realize why the other kid got out of here so quickly? Ngheuuugh.” She tucked her tentacles over her ears and slapped her hat on again so her hair length appeared short cut again.

“I’m still keeping my end of the bargain,” she nonchalantly stated,“but I’m going to grab my laptop so I don’t have to be  _ completely _ bored. You know where this is, by the way?”

 

“No, frankly, I don’t know why he got out of here so quickly but I don’t think it had anything to do with you,” Tlaloc’s grimace was only matched by his glare, nothing playful there.

“...so where are we going? I’m not going to stop you from getting your laptop, but how out of the way is it?”

 

Adria frowned slightly. “It’s the place right above the arcade in Booyah Base… It’s. like, in the direction we came in, but there’s kind of a roundabout way to get inside.” 

She quirked the edge of mouth quizzically. “I mean, it’s not super busy --that’s why a lot of my friends know it-- but you haven’t at least… seen it above the Plaza?” She wasn’t exactly one to talk here, but she was hoping that rung a bell.

“ _ Iiiiiii  _ don’t know this place at all,” Cove lazily admitted. “I’m at the tower for the  _ intended purposes,  _ not to socialize and buy clothes. If you’re out set of directions to this place, I suggest we start moving. Anyway, let’s go!”

Cove took an exaggerated step towards the door, slim laptop, stored in a satchel bag over her shoulder, in tow.


	4. Some Title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is technically final part?   
> I'm going to post the last things we wrote, but Reed and I moved on after writing about these two squids for a while. In any case, we still ship it so that's what counts.
> 
> Ah, Cove and Corey are my characters, too. Writing a bunch of characters gets hectic, my good sir, so I let Reed write Cove here as well.

It took them a good half-hour, quite a bit of bickering and maybe a little name-calling, but the three made their way to the aforementioned ice cream parlor mostly without incident.

It wasn’t exactly one of those small places that were mostly designed for people to get their ice cream and go, though it wasn’t a full on restaurant either, which was interesting in its own right. There were tables and people had to be waited to be seated. In general, the combination between sit-in dining and the idea of dessert being their main selling point meshed together oddly.

And yet the place was still pretty packed. It was late afternoon and the day was somewhat hot, so it made sense, but still, at least to Tlaloc, it was amazing the idea of a place like this actually took off.

“...and so close to Booyah Base at that… or… maybe why it works at all…?” he muttered while they waited to be seated at a table.

 

“This place has a bunch of options and the on-house flavors are usually pretty great,” Adria said. “Though honestly, I’ve only been here a couple times myself.” 

She adjusted her hold on Tlaloc. “Any idea what you want?”

Cove was lagging behind them, spinning around  and glancing at the parlor from ceiling to floor. “Okay… weird business model.  _ But whatever.”  _

 

“Okay, serious questions guys,” Tlaloc said, “what the hell is a die...key...ree?”

“Daiquiri, twit,” Cove said, flippantly.

“Yeah okay, whatever, but why is it cyan? Like really what does it even taste like…” He got up close to the glass, being as careful as he could not to touch it or breathe too hard on it. “I must know. For the sake of knowledge I must partake in my curiousity…” 

He looked to Cove with a horrible grin. “You’re paying, right?

 

Cove seethed Tlaloc’s way, borderline eye-twitching. She hissed through her clenched beak, “ _ Yeeessss,  _ I’m paying for this. That’s why I’m here in the first place, _ right? _ ” 

“Yup, because this is the responsible thing to do,” Adria sweetly chimed in, smiling and optimistic. A bit overly optimistic. “You’re doing the best you can to apologize for this kerfuffle in the form of ‘ice cream payment’ which is a great idea. Just because my cane is broken doesn’t mean the day  _ isn’t savable _ !” 

Cove grinned uncomfortably, pulling her knit hat down at little snugger. “ _Ha ha, yeah._ Thanks for reminding me. You know _,_ ” she squeaked out, “I might get something while I’m here anyway. _Feel free to get whatever you want.”_

Adria smiled pleasantly in acknowledgement, though there was a hint of smugness in her demeanor. The line between being a jerkass and getting well deserved ice cream was extremely thin today.

She grinned excitedly, nudging Tlaloc. “Tell me if there’s any Raspberry Ripple. Ooh, or Coconut Octo-pie. Or Green Tea Matcha. Inklish Toffee?” 

 

Tlaloc hmm’d. He looked over the different flavors--there were a lot of them displayed above, though, oddly enough, they weren’t exactly put out and displayed for everyone to see like in most ice cream parlors. Instead, there was a sign above the counter that showed all the different flavors written in the color that most likely represented the flavor.

So, he scanned the list looking for the flavors Adria had mentioned. “No… yes… yes… yes…” He muttered. “Well, three out of four is still seventy-five percent. Were this a test, this shop would at least pass, though it would probably want to take the class again to get a better GPA. Should have studied more.”

It was only after he’d completed the task that it occurred to him to ask, “you seem to know a lot of flavors… don’t tell me you have a nigh-godlike sense of taste as well? Excuse me if it’s a stupid question, but you’re kind of a bag of mysteries and I have no idea how to approach pulling one out.”

 

Adria snickered. “ _No,_ I don’t have super-tasting abilities. I know those flavors ‘cause _I like sweets.”_

She paused for a second, thinking up a follow-up. “In fact, I might pick up more obscure sounds because I’m paying attention, but my hearing isn’t amplified or anything. Not significantly at least. Improved listening and memory? It’s kind of a package deal for losing a sense. I just use them more than my, y’know _ , light perception _ .”

She tacked on, “I appreciate the tact, but you kind of get a pass on dumb questions because you don’t know me that well. But... how about this? Consider this a 24-hour trial-period where you can ask  _ all _ the questions you want and I’ll answer them, judgement free.”

 

Tlaloc forgot about the ice cream for a second and began to actually think about what he would ask. Anything? No he wouldn’t take that as an invitation to ask dumb questions. Yet. No first of all…

“Well, you said that you’ve broken canes before. Like that it happens regularly-ish.”

Cove groaned. “No need to rub it in.”

“I’m not,” Tlaloc snorted, “krakens below, the world doesn’t revolve around you, lady.” Turning back to Adria, he continued, “do you have any more memorable times that you’ve snapped your set of eyes?”

 

“Yes,” Adria laughed. “Oh my gosh, _yes._ There was this one time I asked Deniz to stick my cane in my bag and --this was one of my foldable canes with a cord strung inside? So the knot at the end came undone, and all of the tubes slipped off and roll in random directions! The next thing I hear is a busy hallway _with people falling over_ _in total chaos_ because we just caused a hallway hazard,” Adria snickered. “Ehe, I mean it was kind of mean, but Izzy trying to describe the situation while sounding completely mortified made things pretty hilarious.” 

“Oh and there was also this other time when I was younger,” Adria continued, just as vividly. “My dad took me along to this parent-teacher conference, something about disability, but I got to hang out and wander off with this other legally blind Tetra, while all the adults talked. Then there was this certain point in the afternoon where we decided having  _ a cane war _ would be an awesome idea and…” 

Adria started snickering. “ _ We fucked up. Both  _ canes snapped and we were sort of stranded until Zale ran out and lead both of us back inside. He was so exasperated that there were  _ two  _ of us, but it was so much fun.” 

_ How long ago had that been, _ she wondered. Her grin still remained, but Adria shrugged.”...I probably have more stories if I think about it, but those… are a couple.”

 

“I see,” Tlaloc said, thoughtfully, as if he were ruminating over canefights and floor hazards and Adria’s laughter. Then he turned to Cove and said, “see, no biggie. No need to run off and freak out, thief geek.”

Cove seemed to ignore him, opting for something on her computer.

“But man, you have a lot of stories,” he continued, grinning. “Got any more ‘fun’ situations that the inability to see has thrown you into?”

As he spoke, Tlaloc led Adria and, by proxy, Cove to a table where they could wait for a server to get them something.

 

Adria thought for a moment. “I guess…?”

Hmm,  _ just about being blind?  _ Nothing immediately came to mind, not because there weren’t any, but because nothing particularly memorable rose to the top between the little of situational things, funny in retrospect but cringeworthy at the time. Adria hmm’d. 

“I mean, it’s more like, I just  _ am  _ blind. And a lot of things happen because of that.” She paused, reaching out to feel for the table and the edge of a chair. “I guess stuff with canes is pretty unique to me, but I couldn’t really tell you,  _ ‘oh, this happened because blindness’  _ or.. something.”

What would it be like, trying to imagine what it would be like if someone asked you, say, what it was like to be breathing. Tlaloc couldn’t help but see that the comparison Adria made was similar to that.

He might as well have asked what it was like to be tasting things or to feel the air. It was just her life--how could she discern any differences? He was pretty sure he was supposed to be embarrassed but what came out of his mouth was, “Thanks.”

Then it sank in. He just thanked her for telling him about blindness.

It was weird. Normally he’d be flustered over making this kind of a social mistake. But… he didn’t feel like he needed to explain himself. He just grabbed the menu and asked Adria, “so out of the millions of flavors you listed, I’d like you to sort them in order by what you like most so that I can see what the hell we’re gonna get you.”

Now seated comfortably, elbows propped up and chin resting on laced her fingers, Adria was smirking. “Greatest to least: Octo-pie, Matcha, then Toffee,” she sang.

“You could probably order a scoop of each, but if you get them all, don’t include the Matcha,” Adria started chattering. “The third should be another cake-ish flavor, or maybe Coffee. Ooh, or caramel! Maybe all in a waffle bowl with chocolate syrup. But maybe a single double scoop of the first two flavors would be fine... I kind of want a cone...”

While Adria continued mixing and matching combinations, Cove didn’t even pry herself away from her laptop to announce her selection. “Yeah,  _ I _ just want cookie dough.” She grumbled, “ _ that  _ and for the tournament to play over all of the matches I missed, but  _ y’know. _ I only have 40K _. _ ” 

“--Coconut Octo-pie plus some-type of caramel ice cream banana sundae, with chocolate sauce and sprinkles!” Adria excitedly concluded. With Cove’s note, she blinked. “Were you a part of that?”

Cove scoffed, “What? No,” still tacking away at her keyboard.

 

That was… oddly specific. And Tlaloc wasn’t sure he got all that. Or whether the last one was the order or not. Honestly, he had to go with Cove. He’d come here for a sundae, but he didn’t mind if he just got to try that weird blue ice cream. It seems Adria had more discerning tastes.

So best to dodge around that. Whenever a server came around, she could order for herself. Instead…

“Which tournament?” Tlaloc inquired, simply. He’d always wanted to join in one, but he never felt like he’d be good enough.

...besides, what if he failed?

 

Cove shrugged laxly. “Wow, I don’t even know if this tournament is big enough for an actual name.” 

Adria leaned over on her elbow, a quizzical look on her face. “If you’re talking about what I think you are… you mean that private, dual-squad tournament being today?”

“Super low-down and last minute?  _ Possibly _ sketchy end prizes?”

“Mm, yeah,” Adria replied indifferently.

Cove grinned. “Oh yeah, that’s the one.” She wiggled her fingers over her keyboard deviously, following up with glee. “Aside from the stages and modes being a total random roulette, the tournament is  _ surprisingly  _ well organized, and pretty much perfect for analyzing. Since there’s a limit to weapon changes.”

 

“Intriguing,” Tlaloc muttered, “so, cane thief slash data miner, what are you trying to fucking glean here? There’s a lot to learn from matches, sure, but why look at the small matches rather than observing the pro matches like normal people?”

He knew he came off as slightly more abrasive than he needed to be, but he was curious why she was so interested. Was there someone she knew in the tournament? Was she collecting statistics on up and coming stars? Finding strategies she could use herself? There was a huge pool of answers that it could be.

And he might have messed up his chances at finding out by being too rude. Fuck.

 

Seemingly acclimated to Tlaloc’s snarking, or just outright not caring, Cove proudly chirped up. “ _ I  _ got a couple requests to help strategize for an upcoming scrim! Something larger, but not quite Ink or Sink.” She condescendingly waved at Tlaloc, “so looking at pro players is  _ pretty useless _ if I’m trying to find out about specific people _. _ ”

Cove huffed, “Only dilemma is, I don’t have the time left to collect the numerical data on certain players, so  _ whatever _ . Not that my qualitative analysis won’t be enough to appease whoever.”

Adria snickered lightly. “So you’re taking notes on how specific people play?” She perked up. Adria was almost sure that from the string of late night IMs, that Wade was in this tournament one way or another. She wasn’t all that worried, more interested if Cove had noticed him or not. Adria grinned with vicious curiosity “Is that even allowed?”

“Well, yeah,” Cove replied. “All tournaments are streamed anyway so anyone who participates is willingly on tape somewhere. So…  _ you know _ . It’s research.”

 

“I see,” Tlaloc said, a nerve growing in his head at Cove’s condescending attitude. “That’s. Interesting.” It was. It was also infuriating how she singled him out. 

“So!” he went on, taking as deep breaths as he could manage without making it look overexaggerated, “ktds are easy to measure numerically, but how to do you measure defensive and offensive strategies? Strategic movements? Sub versus main usage? Favored patterns?” As he rattled off the familiar terms, his rage ebbed away and the desire to compete bubbled up in his blood again.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who just gives loosey-fucking-goosey, willy-nilly, kelp-flabby star ratings to certain attributes of players,” Tlaloc shrugged. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be asked for statistics. So, how do you mathematically judge these little leaguers?”

 

“Ahh yes, _asked_ _for statistics…”_ Cove looked to the side, bridging her fingers momentarily, before theatrically clearing her throat. 

“Well, I’m glad you asked! Ktds are  _ just _ scratching the surface,” she declared, swiftly turning around her laptop, showing a gridded map of Bluefin Depot with various markers and scrolling data chart sitting underneath.

“Ktds are pretty much counts and true/false outcomes for encounters that end in a splat,” Cove began, rising from her seat to pace and talk, “but you can add to that,  _ obviously _ . Just by borrowing the map of stages and plotting some information you can see,  _ oh,  _ what vantage points people tend to hang around, their path variety and choice, their weaker playing areas…their interaction with objectives...”

She mock gasped, “‘ _ But aren’t those things influenced by weapon playstyle?? _ ’ Well, since so much is reliant on weapons, you can factor that in, and break down encounters even further into kills by main, sub, and special. Shots per splat, for an accuracy figure. Gage contributions by goal proximity based on weapon range.” Cove adjusted her hat up, obviously pleased with herself. “Those kind of things that allow you gauge players by skill.  _ And _ a whole lot more.”

 

“That’s all useful information,” Tlaloc noted, getting into this as well, “but do you do the weighting of it or do you leave that to someone else? The players? Some other group?” Some kids that were at a nearby table seemed to have started listening in, but no one in the group seemed to notice. They were either too invested in the conversation or literally unable to see.

“If you do the measuring yourself, do you measure it against national and or global averages? Or do you use the scales for whatever makes the players look best? Are you handing the fucking rosetta stone of player ability to the participants of the tournament or to the managers?” 

Many a time, information about other players playstyles were leaked in the big leagues, data that said a lot about playstyle. While technically the information was available in recordings, having someone accurately compile the data into something squidkid decipherable was invaluable and dangerous in the right hands. While technically not illegal, it was certainly frowned upon and Tlaloc couldn’t help but wonder what this thief was going to do with her stolen… er… compiled info.

 

Cove suavely spun around her chair. “Well, it is a policy of mine to give anyone who asks access to these visuals, since I’m not  _ affiliated  _ with any actual squads, _ buuut _ ,” Cove shrugged, “this stuff should be for  _ players _ ! People trying to come up with counter strategies and trying to configure teams quads!”

She gripped a napkin excitedly, “Once you get to the right strategies, more niche weapons can be used to their full potential! Complex top tiers...and more interesting spectating!” Cove put her hands on her hips and laughed almost maniacally. “Ink battles can be optimized to be more amazing than  _ ever! _ ”

Adria grinned, drumming her her fingers on the table. “So what did you find at the competition before you got chased away?”

Cove blinked, knocked out of her stupor, “What?”

Adria tilted her head innocently. She was interested partially because she knew she’d be at the tournament next week, even if just as a rotate-in. But also because she was starting to notice plenty of ‘buzz words’ and such thrown in. “What did you analyze if you’ve got enough results to say something later? I know some specific people here today, maybe you saw them.”

Cove pursed her lips, spinning around her laptop adeptly “Uueegh, results were…  _ inconclusive _ .  _ Hhhm _ .... _ wow _ , when is this waiter supposed to get here?” 

 

Tlaloc drummed his fingers on the table. “So what you’re saying is… you don’t have anything.” He huffed. For all her big talk, she didn’t have much to show for it. That was for the better anyway… the more that could be left up to smart decision-making on the battlefield, the more tricks people had up their sleeve, the more interesting a battle could be.

“Look, I honestly don’t fucking care too much data you have. I just wanna know how you deep-damned compile it. I for one could care less about the raw data itself, but how you process it is more interesting. Or are you skimping on that too?”  
Sneering, Tlaloc took measure of himself. It’d been a long time since he’d had to be around and deal with people on such a… personal level. He was having fun, for sure, but he was starting to get tired.

Cove was right. Where  _ was _ that waiter?

 

Cove tried to get a word of protest in, something like, “ _ I don’t skimp!!” _ but settled for garbled, incoherent noises, dragging her hat completely over her face. She fell back into her seat, tacked a few things into her keyboard blindly, then pushed her laptop in Tlaloc’s direction.

“I use,” Cove grumbled, “...a new software called Splateau, combined with some database programming languages. Just… open any of the files on this page.” She peeled her hat off one of her eyes to point and direct. “These are premade visuals I’ve made from watching random people. So  _ whooo _ graphs. As long as you don’t fuck it up  _ then _ save it, jus _ t... look through whatever _ .”

Cove huffed. “I just don’t have the squid-power to acquire all the info I need. Not that I can’t predict the tournament winners without it but….  _ aaargghh _ ,” she groaned, leaning way out of her seat. 

As Cove started to nearly fall out of her chair, a waiter coincidentally arrived.

 

“I see,” Tlaloc was about to take the laptop to look over when the waiter arrived. “One bowl of dack… uh… ri... die… key… ree…”

“Daiquiri,” Cove finished, trying to find a decent way to sit up.

“Yes!” Tlaloc said, quickly, “yeah.” His face was quickly getting warmer. “Uh, she, Blind Girl, I mean, this person, uh,” he was pointing at Adria as the waiter looked at him incredulously.

“Wh-what the he--what did you want, Adria?” He said, as calmly as he could manage.

 

Adria perked up. “A banana sundae! Can I get that with, vanilla caramel chunk and coconut octo-pie ice cream? Also, chocolate and caramel sauce?” 

Cove clumsily uprighted herself. “Cookie dough in a waffle cup,” she quickly responded, the waiter jotting the orders down.

Adria laughed. “Honestly, I’m not all that disappointed. I was just curious about some friends in the tournament right and how they were doing. Though I have to admit, you sound like a dangerous person if you could pull that all off!”

She fluttered her fingers in Tlaloc's direction, as if to get his attention. “Also, I’m just a little surprised you’ve got so many questions, Tlaloc,” she grinned. “You didn’t seem so  _ enthusiastic _ about ink battles earlier.”

 

The time that it took the girls to order was enough time for Tlaloc to get a handle of himself again and answer the question Adria posed without feeling like a total fool. “I’m not. They’re mostly just a great way to murder time and one of the millions of things to get better at to improve social standing and one’s personal view on oneself.

He snorted indignantly, “I just wanted to make sure that data wasn’t being distributed unfairly. That’s all.”

After a moment of brooding over his misunderstood intentions, Tlaloc came to another thought. “Oh yeah, you mentioned someone having taught you how to do ink battles? That seems fucking impossible if not very probable. Who the hell taught you? Were they also blind as an anglerfish? Or did they just have a metric fuckton of patience?”

 

Adria was about to protest, but crossed her arms and huffed. “Okay, you’re probably not wrong about the ‘ _ fuckton of patience’  _ but,” she mimicked in a whinier voice, “it’s not ‘ _ fucking impossible’  _ if I was literally ink battling today.” 

She pursed her lips. That was a little ruder than it needed to be, but Adria would like to think that battling was one of the things she was decently good at. And requiring a “metric fuckton of patience” to teach her suggested otherwise. Even though that was probably right anyways.   

Cove blinked, slight confusion obvious in her expression. “I mean… I guessed from the Booyah base gear that you ink battled… but you, like, actually  _ actually  _ ink battle?”

“Yes, I’m in fact actually  _ actually _ A- ranked with a Dynamo,” Adria answered. She smirked at Cove’s simple reaction: “ _ Damn _ .”

“Anyways,” Adria continued, “the person that taught me is my friend, Deniz. Same Deniz that is apparently a woodland creature and surfaces weapons guides so we can make inside jokes from them. They aren’t blind but... it’s funny you mention that. Visually-impaired former ink battler, occasionally the Stick to my Daredevilfish… that’s actually someone else to me.”

It’d been so long since they talked, she thought, but Adria brought the topic back around. “But yes, one of my friends taught me, or rather, that’s how we became friends.” 

 

“A minus! fucking amazing…” he muttered. “You never cease to surprise me, Blind Ink Heroine. That’s your new name now, by the way. Because you are a walking, sightless inspiration.”

As he spoke, Tlaloc organized the utensils, making sure the forks and spoons were parallel to each other. “But this Deniz, She Who May Or May Not Be a Woodland Creature, how’d you guys meet? Like, she taught you ink battles, but why?”

Tlaloc stopped to let her answer the question, but then continued, “wait. Wait is she like, a fucking forest princess? Like you know, singing to birds and shit? And like, dancing and washing clothes in the summer with like, a deepdamned clothesline while all the rabbits and other various rodentry dance around her?” 

Finally he said, “okay. Just. As you answer the question. Just. That’s my thought of her. Please ruin this image delightfully.”

 

Adria almost froze for a moment, before a snicker escaped her lips. Then she kept laughing until she was clutching her sides and keeling over the table. 

“Aha! Oh my gosh, Deniz... Deniz is,” she messed up her words, laughing. “Gosh, you are sooo adorable, but Deniz is so  _ unprincess-like  _ it’s hilarious!”

Adira kept snickering until she could semi-compose herself, wiping a tear from her eye. 

“Well,” Adria snorted, “to start ruining this image, Deniz isn’t a girl... or a boy. Pronouns are they and them.” She couldn’t help but giggle as she continued,“and I would describe them more as, ‘really into ink weapons, really brilliant and  _ really salty _ .’”

Adria shook her head, still grinning, but actually trying to answer. “Their grandmother is a professor at the school I go to, so we met through her. ...Mmm,  _ sort of _ . And they taught me ink battling because, well…? Because, they could.” 

She paused to consider. “I guess, their reasons for teaching me were ...sort of complicated.”

 

“I… see?” Tlaloc began, before he did a 180 and said, “nah, I don’t see. But I totally understand if you don’t know or don’t wanna talk about it.”

Putting the final adjustments on the knife that was at the table--barring the thought that there was a knife at the table of an ice cream place--he went on. “Really, my image has transformed from singing, dancing princess to androgynous, wisened pirate in the middle of the nowhere. Don’t ask where the pirate part came from, I don’t know either.”

Moving onto the napkins, folding his into neat triangles, Tlaloc asked, “so what school do you go to? Like, is it totally accommodated for the crippled? Or do you accommodate for the world? I mean, you’re accommodating for me pretty damn well so I wouldn’t put it past you.”

 

Cove glance around before commenting, “No. Pirates are salty. That actually makes sense.” Already somewhat attentive from listening in on the conversation, there was a curious look on Cove’s face as she flipped over and moved a napkin arbitrarily.  _ Arbitrarily. _

Adria, on the other hand, smiled a bit awkwardly. “Yes, it.. it kind of does make sense, but Deniz still isn't a pirate. And.. it’s not that I don’t know, it’s just… when we met, things weren’t exactly  _ amazing _ for Izzy then. Not to mention, trying to prove a point and seeking a distraction... those aren’t exactly  _ altruistic _ reasons for teaching me initially.”

She leaned into her hand. “And school is school. Sort of a running start for my audio engineering at Inkopolis U. It’s... as accommodating as it needs to be to meet regulation. Aside from that, I get help where I need it.” Adria scoffed, covering her smile in her hand, “‘ _ Accomodate the world?’  _ Since when is that my job?”

 

“I dunno, isn’t it the case for everyone?” Tlaloc shrugged, but glared intensely at Cove while realigning the napkin.

“Wait, I guess I should explain myself better. Again, kinda new to the interaction things,” he paused a bit before he answered. In fact, it was a little while before he said anything at all. But after a minute, he seemed to have an answer.

“Society is kinda fucking huge,” he began. “And it’s true that to some extent, we allow for abnormality. Much better than in our history, anyway. Believe me. I know. My mom doesn’t ever shut the fuck up about it. But like, in general, people who are unusual… those with physical, mental and social disorders all have to adapt to society in their own ways.” 

He got rather grim near the end, as if the words hit too close to home. “Because no matter how much people think they’re doing their best. No matter much they think that they are doing what they can to help the people that are struggling around them. Ultimately, each person ends up having to focus on their own situation. That’s egoism.”

“Just… I didn’t mean to get...  ugh.” He facepalmed. “I just wanted some fucking ice cream. Not to spill life philosophy and trip awkwardly over my own concepts. Just… fuck.”

 

Straightening up, Adria blinked. Again, she was caught off guard by the candor Tlaloc spilled into his words. She faced down for a moment, thinking.  _ Say anything  _ and possibly make this worse… or return with her own exposed thoughts. Just something to acknowledge she was listening.

“I… I understand, what you mean.” She paused, almost surprised she was speaking, then seemingly vexed but still smiling. “I joke but ...you’re right. That I’ve got lots of tricks and skills to try be independent or competent. That I’m the one having to explain and navigate interactions, with even adults that should know better.”

Adria seemed to fidget with her hands, bridging and bending her fingers, though there was something more rhythmic than nervous. “I don’t know if it’s the distance I’ve created, spending my time pursuing my own goals rather than trying to be kid, now, while it lasts. But... I get what you mean. But I know I wouldn’t be where without the people who really do care behind me. People might usually focus on themselves… but not always.” 

She laced her fingers together, now with a warmer smile, before continuing.

“If that is the case, where everyone is simply concerned with themselves, aren’t even the smallest selfless and kind acts… that much more extraordinary?”

 

For once, Tlaloc didn’t speak his mind. He had thoughts on the matter, but they were cruel-sounding.

_ No one did anything selflessly. _

Even now, he was helping Adria because… it felt good. It felt good to be needed. It felt good to be understood. To talk. To understand what she was saying. For her to understand what he was saying. To speak and be spoken to was a luxury he wasn’t afforded often.

It felt good to get to know her. Hell, it was good for his writing. It was fun to talk. It was fun and enjoyable to listen. She liked his creative swears… he worked on that skill. Where some practice their facial expressions in the mirror, Tlaloc practiced his creative wordplay.

But ultimately… he did it because he wanted to do it. He did it because he felt good about it. So he simply said, “yeah. Yeah it does.”

 

The brevity of that answer wasn’t what she expected at all, in fact, it was a tad disconcerting. No additional rants or opinions tacked on. 

She began to retort, “...You know, I can hear--” 

...The silence, and that alone spoke volumes. Something they wanted to ignore or keep to themselves wasn’t said. ...And this feeling probably ran deeply since Tlaloc was, well, managing. 

It was probably, better to stop while she was ahead. She hadn’t started anything yet nor did she want to; why not keep it that way?

“--can hear the waiter coming!” Adria grinned. It was true anyway, and she could switch the topics about now.

“Sorry, I don’t remember what we’re just talking about,” she genuinely admitted. “Something about school, something about Deniz… So, what about you? You said go to school somewhere?” 

 

“Nah,” Tlaloc said, jumping on the excuse to change topics. “I didn’t actually say anything about going to school. Because that would be a fucking lie. I’m homeschooled. Which is technically school, I guess?”

As he went on, the ice cream was set down in front of them--he was once against surprised at how very posh this was for a simple ice cream parlor. “Thanks, man,” he said, curtly though flippantly.

“Anyway, I’ve been taught by my mom all my life,” he continued, “which is fucking interesting at times and boring at others. I mean, she means well… but she’s always kinda busy, so she uses a combination of in-class sessions, internet dumbfuckery and dry as dirt textbook learning to round things off.”

Tlaloc hesitated to pick up his spoon. Things were aligned so perfectly, that he didn’t know if he could ruin the parallel nature of the utensils so frivolously.

“Point is, I don’t know many people my age as a result. That is what my school life is like.”

 

“That.. that makes sense. You being homeschooled, that is.” Adria sheepishly chuckled. “No offense. You seem the type and ...I don’t really know why I thought otherwise. My memory is usually pretty good...”

At the sound of a sundae being set down in front of her, Adria responded with a chirpy “thank you,” quickly locating the bowl by running her fingertips up the side. Right at the edge of the bowl --her fingertips were already chilled-- but the softer change in texture? That was sweet, cold ice cream. Adria carefully licked the spot off her fingers.

Cove looked over from her own ice cream --and now also her computer-- to eye Adria’s dessert. “ _ Wow _ . That is a  _ giant _ fucking bowl of ice cream,” she commented.

Adria blinked. “Well,  _ I guess?  _ Mm. can, you tell me where the utensils are?” she shrugged off, still holding her hand to her mouth.

As she waited, Adria considered things out loud. “Heh, my dad was so involved in education I guess I don’t really think about the alternatives outside of the school systems.”

 

“Yeah, hard to realize there’s a box until someone comes knocking on the door with a shitty pizza order no one knew was a thing,” Tlaloc said, before groaning and saying, “know what, that was a bad one. Just… forget it. Please. For the love of the gods below.”

Tapping Adria’s hand, he directed her toward her spoon be gently moving her fingers to the handle. As he helped her and she began to spoon the ice cream, he couldn’t help but think about her missing her mouth and hitter her nose or something.

So… he started snickering. Uncontrollably.

 

Adria paused mid spoon-bite, frowning at the perceived lack of funny things being said or done.

“What…? Aerm I mishing shomething?” she asked, before actually finishing her spoon and bringing a napkin to her face. 

Adria faltered, listening to the atmosphere in the room. She couldn’t tell if this was something she just wasn’t able to notice --her left out inherently-- or something she just wasn’t getting right away. Adria hesitantly smiled, asking again, “Is.. there something... I’m not noticing?” 

 

“No, no, I just… funny thought. That’s all.” Tlaloc snorted, still giggling a bit. “Have you ever missed your mouth?” It just sort of slipped out, but the giggling stopped and the he started to trip over his words again. 

“I mean… fuck, have you ever… you know… uh... when you close your eyes? And… uh… well, basically?” Then he remembered… she’s blind. “...just… forget. I thought. Uh. Well. damnit.”

There was one good side to this. Being so embarrassed helped with not caring about neurotic tendencies and he picked up his spoon she shoved a big scoop into his mouth. Which he regretted. The following brainfreeze resulted in an intense flash of pain.

He felt like he deserved it. But at least the ice cream was good.

 

Adria showed a puzzled expression, not exactly sure what Tlaloc meant by any of that, between the sudden outburst and the fragmented response. Well, she was aware that his reasons for suddenly giggling were probably dumb. Adria impishly grinned. Random laughter was a bit contagious. 

Relatively sure that Tlaloc was right next to her, she poked him in the arm, bouncing her finger up his arm until she traced the edge of his shirt sleeve. Her fingertips were probably still cold. Hehehe,  _ oh well _ . Adria then flicked him the shoulder and smirked, triumphant in her playful reprimanding.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to ask,” she snickered. “ _ Why? _ Do you  _ miss when you close your eyes?  _ Because that doesn’t really change a lot for me,” Adria joked.

 

“Yes,” Tlaloc said simply, “yes, I do.” He then prompted shoved another scoop of ice cream into his mouth, unwisely.

After the resulting brain freeze, he said, “man, I am fucking up so much. I know I have a goddamned free pass for the day, but it’s still embarrassing as all get up. I just… it’s hard to imagine living without something you’ve had forever.”

He thought about it for a moment, then decided to say more--that didn’t really capture what he wanted to say. “Like… I’ve  _ thought _ about it, sure. But for everyday actions and conversation I--and I like to think everyone on the waterlogged blue ball we call the planet--they just say things as if everyone in the world sees things like them. Sees things  _ as _ them.”

“So…” he continued, “it’s not like it’s that odd that I’m tripping up, and it’s not that fucking unusual to feel bad about it. But at the same time, it’s not  _ comforting _ to know that I’m as selfish and unperceptive as everyone else.”

 

“Tlaloc… I...” Adria paused somewhat dumbstruck, retracting her hand and deliberating how to respond.  _ Not comforting  _ to make errors made by everyone else? Of course, Adria wouldn’t have worded these errors as “selfish and unperceptive,” more as, occasional marine error. A pretty forgivable and understandable offense in anyone’s book as long as they worked to fix it... but apparently not Tlaloc’s.

She dropped her jokey attitude for puzzlement. “I’m sorry..? You just… make such a big deal out of this that it's hard not to poke fun at.” 

Adria paused, considering her words. She understood he was embarrassed but… Adria gave an agitated retort. “I don’t get why you think you’re above everyone else automatically. Being aware is... _ learned _ .”

Adria’s harsh expression somewhat calmed as she exhaled. 

“Tlaloc, you’re…  _ trying _ , and that’s more than a lot of people can say.”

 

“Ugh… I… I know,” he sighed. “I know, and it’s probably best that I just fucking… I dunno. Eat this ice cream. And laugh. And talk about other things. Like, I dunno. Fuckin’ forest fae and the dynamics of the indigenous tribes we used to be before we people banded together because of the flood. I know shit about that.”

Letting go of some tension, he said, “so! Let’s close the topic of my general superiority complex on this final note! I’m probably going to be constantly trying to get better at understanding your situation because I feel bad about not being understand. Because I don’t like not being understanding so I can continue to be a pretentious prick on my own terms.”

For the first time this conversation, he took a small spoonful of the ice cream, instead of a gigantic one and, finally, he could appreciate how the mild tang mixed with the refreshing cool citrus flavor, not to mention the aftertaste.

“How’s the ice cream? And what the fuck flavor did you get, again? I remember it not being nearly as complicated as whatever it was you were streaming off just like, ten minutes ago.”

 

Adria gently smiled at what Tlaloc had said, because really, it was all she could ask. That he keep trying to understand. 

So… she was happy! An unrestrained grin spread across Adria’s face. “Coconut Octo-pie and caramel chunk, banana sundae!  _ With assorted chocolate-y sauces, _ ” she gushed in response. “And it’s… awe-some~!” Adria sing-songed.

It was creamy; sweet! The different flavors of caramel and coconut meshed together so well, with the pie’s subtle fruity sweetness and the caramel’s bold richness. All perfect with the banana texture. 

Somewhere or another, there was a cherry topping the sundae too and that would be fun to find. She twirled her spoon around playfully. “I might… occasionally enjoy sweet things. A lot,” she snickered.

As she kept eating, a text tone coming from her phone caught her attention. Adria casually slipped her phone on the table, brushing over the miniature braille display and waiting to read the entirety of the message. She started frowning, spoon still clamped in her mouth as she read.

With a flippant scoff, she swiped the phone screen away.“That’s going to get out of hand…”

 

_ Sounds too complicated for me _ . Tlaloc thought as Adria seemed to savor her Coconut pie octo-cara-banana or whatever. Too complicated and too sweet. He took another bite of his much less complex, smooth, blue ice cream.

As he savored his treat, Adria’s phone went off. As she read over her phone--which amazed him in it’s convenience… he’d never have thought of something like that--he couldn’t help but blurt out, “who’s that? What’s getting out of hand?”

 

“Mm, it’s my friend in the tournament right now. His name is Wade,”Adria answered. She scowled momentarily, while trying to read the text. “And he’s worried right now, because at least 3 people have told him that his best friend got arrested, all while he’s trying to focus on ranked battles. So  _ that rumor _ is getting out of hand.” 

Despite considering the possibility that this couldn’t all be Corey’s fault, Adria still thought to herself,  _ dammit Corey. _

She gave an indifferent  _ ‘hm’ _ before tacking on, “Of course, according to Wade’s SplatChat, apparently jail looks like D’Alfosino.” She muttered, “ _ The reverse statement is also true _ , but that’s just my opinion.”

 

“I think I get where you’re coming from, but like…” Tlaloc began, “but the museum is wonderful! I mean, all the art there is so wonderfully and carefully picked and the atmosphere is so relaxed… it really brings me down after the day takes a fucking wind-up key, shoves it in my back, then cranks my shit up.”

Oh. “But. Uh… I get why you wouldn’t quite, uh. You know. Enjoy the, uh, experience?” There had to be some way to stop being this awkward. So he stopped, he breathed, and continued. 

“I. I, uh, could explain the pieces to you some time! We could sit down and--oh there are some tactile pieces! I could explain their history and you could enjoy those more than anyone other fucking art appreciator there!”

 

Adria fretted, a little embarrassed. “Ah, you would like these sort of places!”

She was probably just griping about the place because she was still in the process of memorizing the battle layout, but still… While it was true museums were a little difficult for her to enjoy, badmouthing it --even jokingly-- just seemed kind of short now.

“It’s… not that I hate it or anything, it's just that rotating platforms are so disorienting!” Adria started prattling. “I can’t memorize where they’ll lead so easily. I mean, I would probably appreciate the quiet,” it wasn’t like she had a reason to go to the museum outside of ink battling so that was a guess, “but I, hmm... I’d… I’d like that,” she cut to. 

“We... should go... do that sometime,” Adria agreed, smiling coyly.

 

“Ohhhh myyyy gooood,” Cove exclaimed, “go find a room you two!” Sneering, she shoved another spoonful of ice cream into her face.

“What!?” Tlaloc blurted. “I-it’s not like that! I mean, Adria’s cute but, like, we met today! There’s like… a process to these things! ...I think? I don’t know. Fuck.” Following suit, he also took his spoon and consumed some more ice cream before letting his head drop to the table.

“You only have yourself to blame,” Cove said, smugly. “You’re too easy to tease.”

 

“You’re not ...wrong, _ ” _ Adria commented, all the while blushing. “That wasn’t very subtle of me, I guess,” she noted, toying with her phone.

“Augh Cove, why  _ are _ you even here?” she sarcastically complained, leaning into her hand to pushing up her bangs and glasses. Not that she was one to talk, but the teasable did not always need to be teased.

Cove snorted. “Well,  _ apparently _ to pick up the check,” she griped, taking a bite out of the side of her waffle bowl.

“Yes, but you’re _ terrible _ ,” Adria laughed, “and honestly,  _ that should cost you _ .” 

Adria tilted her head up to grin menacingly. “Maybe an I-O-U for another day?”

Cove sputtered something unintelligible in almost-protest.

 

“Yeah,” Tlaloc added, a grin forming on his face. “And I’m sure you’re soooo looking forward to hanging out with a few ‘lovebirds’ like ourselves. You might even say that you ‘ship it.’”

Putting a finger to his chin, in contemplation, “perhaps you should decide the location of the next  _ date _ , hm? And you accompany us there to pay for the expenses?”

After taking a careful bite of his ice cream, the boy continued, “now, we’ll be  _ somewhat _ merciful. You don’t need to pay for anything extra we pick up there. You just need to be there to pay the sunk cost. How about it, you two-faced thief of a walking sick?”

 

“Aww!” Adria cooed, tilting her cheek into the back of her hands, giddily. “This  _ is _ a date!” 

That seemed like the last straw. Cove immediately pulled her legs up and scrunched into the chair seat, with a distressing pout. “Nh nhn nhgg  _ Noooo. _ ” Cove answered.

She dragged her hat down snugly. “Augh! I can’t  _ chaperone _ you guys again,” she complained.  “I need money _!  _ For  _ actual things!  _ And I need to actually do things with my life!!” She slid down the back of her seat, dramatically croaking, “ _ I have a family...! _ ”

Adria snorted, though she was thoroughly amused. “Relax, Cove,” Adria said. “You already arranged for my cane to be fixed and you’re covering the bill now. Can’t really draw out your indentured servitude past that.”

“Ha ha,” Adria replied acerbically. “Also, you’re an  _ awful _ wingman. Just…  _ really _ .”

 

Tlaloc took one last bite of his ice cream, trying not to snicker at Cove and failing horribly. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll let you write a last will and testament.” His smirk said it all. He was enjoying this girl’s harmless suffering.

Mostly because he intended to pay her back later. And besides, if she could overreact about it, she was taking it pretty well.

“But yes,” he snorted, as if he actually cared, “you make a pretty bad wingman, sorry.” He still felt a bit awkward about tripping over himself about Adria. They’d just met after all! Again, t-there’s a process to these things!

 

Adria giggled, enjoying being on the “winning side” of this skewed power balance of a situation. 

Cove on the other hand, slumped in her chair, looking feebly at her hands as if thinking over life-decisions. All this while stuffing the last of her waffle cone into her mouth. Cove glanced upwards, taking notice of Tlaloc’s also-finished ice cream.

“Oh, are you done with your ice cream, too? I guess can start,” she threw up a pair of lackluster jazz-hands, “ _ asking for the bill.  _ What a shocker,” Cove deadpanned. The way she scoffed afterwards was almost a smile. 

As Adria heard that, she realized she was the only person still eating. “Ah! Wait just a moment,” Adria said, twirling her spoon around and adjusting her grip on it. She delicately devoured the last of her ice cream in under a minute, pulling the spoon out of her mouth with a “pop.”

“Done,” Adria nonchalant replied, setting her spoon down. “You can pay now.”

Cove held up a hand to call the waiter, looking over at Adria incredulously. “....Half the bowl was left before you said that.” Cove narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, _what the fuck_ ,” she commented before shrugging.

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to go with the rogue on that one,” Tlaloc said, narrowing his eyes, suspiciously, “what the ever-living hell was that? Like, how is your brain still functioning? Isn’t it supposed to freeze or something? Or is it already a fucking tundra up there?”

By the time Tlaloc realized that the waiter was watching it was too late. He turned, looked the over-dressed teen in the eyes, glared, then said, “how many people to  _ you _ see that can down a half a bowl of ice cream in two scoops. You  _ work _ here, please tell me that’s  _ not normal _ ?”

The boy shrugged. Cove paid for the deal as Tlaloc ranted at Adria about the astonishing, probably physically possible, feat she just accomplished. Nobody in the company could really tell whether the stream of words coming from Tlaloc were decorative praise or flowery insults, but they were amusing to listen to, at the least.

After some time of this, Cove eventually said, “well! If you’re done bleeding me dry, I’ve got other things to do today--”

“Number,” Tlaloc snapped. “We need your number so we can get in contact. For more ‘dates.’”

Cove stared at him dryly for a good thirty seconds. Then, she got out a pen and sighed, asking if either of them had something to record the number on. All this in order, Tlaloc stored the number and shooed her away.

Surprisingly, it seemed as if Cove was… at least okay with everything that was going on? That came as a shock to Tlaloc, but two friends in one day? That’s more than… a lifetime.


	5. Bishie Sparkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one time we actually give it a title that doesn't mean "we'll name this later then never name it" and I don't pick it up.  
> School happened.
> 
> Anyways, this isn't really a full 20 pages, its kind of a nub, but if we we're to continue, this is where it left off.

~~**bishie sparkle transition**~~

Adria stood up, straightened out her clothes, then slide the chair back under the table.  
“Well,” she began, “thank you, for the ice cream idea and the company,” Adria said sweetly, her grin pleased.   
It had been good idea --especially since she might have had a weak spot for sweets-- and if Adria wasn’t wrong, it sort of became an actual date. Or maybe it had been one from the start. A date plus Cove. The details were hazy, but just trying to think about it and make sense of it made Adria giddy.  
Despite this, she started her next question with a little hesitation. “...I hope your offer to take me home still stands?”   
It had been a while ago since Tlaloc had mentioned this, but she figured that if there was a time to find out she heard wrong, it was when Wade was buggable and a single phone call away. Not to mention, the chances of her home being pretty out of the way of Loc’s usual route was very probable. He’d been leading her around for most of the day already, but hopeful part of Adria wished that it didn’t have to end now.

Tlaloc weighed his options for all of two seconds. He had very little else to do today and honestly, hanging out with Adria--possibly on a date???--was more fun than he had had in ages. Or ever maybe?  
“Do I seem like I have anything better to do?” He quipped. “Leading you around is probably the most exciting thing that has happened to me in eons right next to performing on stage the first time. And that was more nerve-wracking than exciting.”  
“I do have one serious question,” Tlaloc added, “and I know it might come as a shock, but I don’t know how to get to your house. So, question of the day--probably literally--how in the everliving deep am I going to get you there?”

Adria’s face brightened at the assured response. “By train,” she answered.  
“Well,” she added, “that’s the easiest way to get there, at least. I live a short walk from one of the stations off the Namazu line. I know you can drive to my house, --or bike there-- but this is how I usually get home.”  
Adria shifter her feet for a moment, wondering if she should really pop a request. “....But, before then, you think we can buy something really quickly?”  
She grinned only half apologetically. “It’s something we could pick up while waiting! I just need a recent magazine or newspaper, but I swear I know the way back well enough to tell you.”

Tlaloc didn’t mind letting her pick up the most recent issue of the outdated Times or the “juiciest” gossip that all the kidz on the streetz were mumbling about, but honestly, he was confused as to why she’d want it. Still, just simply said, “yeah, sure.”  
But, as they walked to the train station, he let his curiosity get the better of him and “why the hell do you want some magazine though? Like, I’m not judging your taste because you don’t seem to give a Jelly’s nonexistant ass about what the contents are, just that it’s recent. So like… why???”

Adria laughed lightly. “Clearly so I can enjoy it’s contents and be caught up on the recent news,” she said in glossy sarcasm. She chuckled as they walked, content with that statement being the only thing left said for a bit.   
Finally, she dryly laughed and said, “Ha ha. Just kidding. I can’t read.”   
She flippantly added, “At least I can’t read like you can. Anyways, I am going to need the magazine for reasons.”   
Adria grinned like she was scheming, though, having that magazine would be important for later. She saw no harm in making a bit of fun out of a simple errand, for now. 

“Reasons,” Tlaloc nodded along, sagely. “Of course. Of fucking course. I don’t know why I expected anything less from such a wonderfully coy fox such as yourself. Fine, I’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure.”  
The walk to the station was largely uninteresting, though talking with Adria really did help to pass the time.  
When they reached the station, Tlaloc quickly took a detour to the closest newspaper dispenser and popped a coin into the machine. When the paper fell down with a dull thunk, he retrieved it and handed it gently to Adria, making sure she knew what she was holding.  
“Will this do?” he asked, gruffly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....And sorry if that was anti-climatic.   
>  Hope you enjoyed reading this if you got to this page. 
> 
> I don't think I got everything right about my own characters and stuff, but it was really fun to write with a friend.


End file.
